


A Bolt for the Blue

by dendriticgold



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Janek Biel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-20 02:57:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 64
Words: 71,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8233708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendriticgold/pseuds/dendriticgold
Summary: Set prior to Xmas Special 2012 (i.e. Thomas is Under Butler and the Footmen are sods) New arrivals at Downton mean misunderstandings and the occasional hijinks. Humour and happy ending for Thomas/OMC if it kills me. [Seriously, this is the third cocking try. Prev 'The Cracking' and 'Not Like The Other']





	1. Chapter 1

_Yes, I am stalking the corridor after dark. No, it is not in the hopes of an unconscious man._

Of course he _would_ find himself face to face with Carson. But he was too unsettled for his face to convey the dark sarcasm in his thoughts.

The air was thick that night. Sweltering. The day had been hot, but nothing compared to the dankly humid evening. In the hours since he had gone to bed, Thomas had tossed and turned incessantly.

He’d discarded his blanket then kicked off his sheets. Even the residual warmth of his cheek on the downy pillow irritated him.

He’d got up, splashed water on his face, then tried again for sleep. No luck. His head had begun throbbing some time after 2:00am and he just couldn’t stay still.

Staring out of his attic window as he tugged at his wet nightshirt added to his sense of unease. The thick, dimpled cloud cover that had settled sometime in the early afternoon was moving fast across the night sky, blotting out the stars.

‘Bollocks to this.’ He’d muttered, before deciding to attempt to walk it off.

And that’s when he’d found Carson. Or Carson had found him, he wasn’t sure. There was a ringing in his ears and a crushing feeling in his head, so much so that he failed to offer an appropriately deferential greeting when faced with a robed and very disgruntled Butler.

‘Mr Barrow…’ Said Carson in that special brand of curtness that seemed reserved just for him. ‘…might I enquire as to why…?’

‘Listen.’ Thomas said, turning his head. The ringing in his ears suddenly stopped.

‘Mr Barrow!’

‘No, just…’ Thomas didn’t know what he was listening for. He only knew that suddenly the night seemed deathly silent.

There was a crack, like a ten ton hammer hitting a acre-wide anvil. Then a creak, a crash, then a moan that sounded like the Abbey itself was in pain. The wires in the ceiling crackled and sparked.

Thomas looked back to Carson and the tiny candle in his hand that was suddenly the only light.

They could only stare at one another as another crash came, louder and powerful enough to shake the very boards under their feet. It sounded like the very sky was falling.

‘What the…?’ Thomas blinked and spied a dozen pale faces peering out at them from behind partially closed doors.

Mrs Hughes appeared at the door to the women’s corridor.

A booming rumble of thunder broke directly above them.

‘The family…’ Carson somehow managed to choke out. ‘Mrs Hughes would you be so kind as to accompany me to rouse the family.’

 _I don’t imagine they’re sleeping._ Thomas imagined she was thinking.

‘Mr Barrow if you would be so kind as to convey the staff to…’ It was funny how courteous Carson could be when he was terrified, Thomas mused. Heavy raindrops began to pound the roof. The incessant rattling of the water quickly amended Carson’s plan for an outdoor evacuation. ‘…the Great Hall.’

‘Right away, Mr Carson.’ Thomas replied, accepting the candle holder that was thrust into his hand as Carson and Hughes made haste for the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

‘Lightning’ was the Fire Marshall’s wholly redundant verdict the next morning.

After a night spent huddled downstairs, with white flashes periodically illuminating the floor through the windows, no one was surprised.

The family had passed the hours in the Library drinking ‘nerve fortifying’ port, served by Carson attempting to maintain dignity while in his night-gown. The staff had sat on the hall floor drinking tea that an intrepid Mrs Patmore had procured alone from the kitchen.

When the storm passed and daylight came no one was in a good way to make the walk round the grounds to the East Wing of the house to see the pile of rubble and bricks littering the lawn, and the gaping triangular hole where part of the roof and wall had given way.

‘Well at least we had no guests over-nighting.’ The ever-soothing Lady Grantham offered, peering into the guest quarters from the lawn while her husband looked to be having a fairly major coronary beside her.

After a very pointed look from Lady Grantham the Fire Marshall pronounced that the building was ‘probably’ stable enough for continued occupation. But the fact that no staff were assigned to go into the East Wing to commence clean-up spoke volumes, as did the throbbing vein in Robert’s forehead as he called for the accounting books from Carson.

Breakfast in the staff quarters was a silent affair. As was the breakfast for the family, from which Robert was conspicuously absent. Thomas stood erect, liveried and polished as appropriate, in his position in the corner of the room. He fancied he could feel the dark circles round his eyes growing as the rest of the Crawleys sipped coffee and stared at their food.

‘It’s a fine pickle and no mistake.’ Thomas remarked as he and Jimmy cleared away the breakfast things. There was no response forthcoming. Not that he had expected one.

It was late in the day, just before the staff dinner, that Carson entered the servant’s hall with an air of importance.

Chairs scraped back.

Unusually, Carson left everyone standing, clearly feeling that the matter was of great enough import to merit discomfort in the telling.

‘Lord Grantham…’ He intoned grandly. ‘…will be contracting the services of Smith and Sons…’ He continued as though all present knew of the company. ‘…to survey and repair the damage to the East Wing.’

The announcement did not produce the level of celebration he anticipated, as evidenced by the thinning of his lips. Thomas took a moment to ponder Carson’s displeasure.

_It’s not like THEY know the family’s budget is hanging by a shoe-string._

Thomas and a few of the more senior members of staff alone exchanged glances, wondering how the miracle of additional finances was to be achieved.

‘And…’ Here Thomas could tell Carson deeply resented what he had yet to say. ‘…a benefit Fair is to be held in the grounds a fortnight from Sunday.’

Thomas couldn’t stop the snort. He tried. He really did. But there was something just so vulgar about the silk and fur clad aristocracy relying upon the business classes to fund the repairs of their ‘Castle’.

Thomas quickly turned the snort into a coughing fit as he felt the disapproving gaze (or maliciously amused, in the case of O’Brien) of the surrounding staff turned on him.

‘Sit.’ Carson commanded.

There was another scraping as everyone settled back in their chairs and pulled them up for dinner.

Much to Carson’s chagrin, there was much talk about the entertainments that might be expected at the upcoming Fair.


	3. Chapter 3

‘Are you _sure_ , My Lord?’

Thomas paused on his way into the library. Yes, he needed to deliver the day’s letters, but the prospect of witnessing Carson questioning Lord Grantham’s judgement was too rare an occurrence to pass up.

‘Works need to proceed as quickly as possible, Carson, and I will not have a commute from the village lodgings as an excuse for a tardy work force.’ Robert said gently.

‘But…’

Thomas’s eyebrows shot up. He dreaded to think what degree of impropriety would have Carson persist in arguing with His Lordship.

‘But…’ Carson tried again. ‘…perhaps the Groundsmen’s cottages? Or one of our tenant farmers might…’

‘I trust you will make the arrangements.’ Robert said lightly.

‘Yes, My Lord.’ Carson bowed.

Before Carson had finished making the turn to the door, Thomas smoothly entered the library as though he had just arrived.

‘Your correspondence, Your Lordship.’ Thomas said smartly as he laid the letters on the desk.

‘Thank you, Mr Barrow, and I’ll take some tea.’ Said Robert. ‘And Barrow…’ He said as Thomas turned to leave. ‘I trust you will assist Mr Carson in making arrangements for the building contractors to take up lodgings upstairs.’

Thomas saw Carson pause in the doorway, stung by the rebuke that Robert felt the need to put Thomas in the position of checking his compliance with an order.

Truth be told, Thomas suddenly understood Carson’s hesitancy. The men’s corridor was full, which meant some awkward conversations in the near future about doubling up. Add to that the promise of filthy, unfamiliar labourers to take up residence and Thomas would have queried the wisdom himself.

That is, if he hadn’t already witnessed Carson receiving a dressing down for suggesting the same.

‘Certainly, My Lord.’ Said Thomas sweetly.

He followed behind Carson, step for step, as they made their way down the hall in silence. Followed as they both entered through the discrete doorway to the staircase downstairs. Carson actually held the door open for him, that was new.

Their footsteps echoed down the stair case.

‘It is an affront!’ Carson declared as they entered the Abbey underbelly.

He walked straight for his office and didn’t close the door behind him.

Thomas knew an invitation when he saw one.

He followed into Carson’s office and closed the door behind him.

‘An affront!’ Carson said to the port bottle he pulled from his cabinet.

Thomas remained silent.

He nearly fell over when Carson filled a small glass to the brim and offered it to him. Another new development, though not one Thomas was particularly averse to. He rolled the glass between his fingers as Carson poured himself a measure.

‘His Lordship cannot think to maintain the dignity of this household…’ Half the liquid in Carson’s glass was suddenly gone as he seated himself behind his desk. ‘…by allowing filthy labourers to room within these walls.’

‘You and I are of one mind, Mr Carson.’ Said Thomas, just humbly enough so that Carson wouldn’t hear the dry wit behind the sentiment. He took a sip of his glass, wondering if a second glass might be forthcoming if he played his cards right. ‘But it seems there is nothing to be done.’ He said carefully.

Carson sighed, shoulders slumping. ‘No, it seems not.’ He agreed. ‘What is to be done?’ He continued. The second half of his port vanished as quickly as the first.

‘Well…’ Thomas said cautiously. ‘…the Hall Boys we can shunt three or four to a room. Perhaps Alfred and…’

‘Yes, Alfred and James together.’ Carson agreed. ‘Of course it would expedite matters if we could put someone with you.’

It took every fibre of Thomas’s being to keep his face neutral.

_Natural order restored then._

He resolved to savour the rest of his port.

‘Molesley…’ Carson pondered. ‘…I suppose he could stay where he is. Mr Bates’s room remains vacant so…’ He trailed off. ‘How many rooms does that give us?’

‘Four rooms.’ Thomas replied. ‘That is, if we pack the Hall Boys in tight.’

‘That should suffice.’ Said Carson to his desk. ‘We will procure some additional…mattresses.’ He practically spat at the last word.

‘I’ll speak with Dr Clarkson about borrowing some bed-steads from the hospital.’ Thomas said. ‘I’ll speak with the Hall Boys, of course.’ He drained the rest of his glass. ‘Will you speak with Alfred, and James?’ He said tentatively.

‘I suppose I will have to.’ Carson replied gruffly.

Thomas managed a weak smile.

‘Well that’s settled then.’ Thomas said.

He made his way to the kitchens to retrieve a new tea-tray for Robert.

Somehow the whole endeavour of procuring tea, crockery and a few biscuits on a china plate was achieved without the acknowledgement of the two Footmen lurking in the corner.


	4. Chapter 4

Thomas had seen his fair share of films and theatre shows. So he knew precisely the kind of music that was played during passing events that were displeasing to the protagonists.

It was that kind of plunky music playing now in his head as he watched the two carts kick up dust as they approached the Abbey.

He stood, fixed smile on his face, with a small group of Hall Boys waiting at the entrance to direct the carts round to the side. The very least they could do was ensure the workers knew their proper place by entering through the side door.

The decision to send Hall Boys to show the men to their rooms rather than the Footmen was a marvellously calculated move on Carson’s part. Less so Thomas’s role in having to oversee them. It would seem that the role of Under Butler had suddenly been demoted to lower than that of Footmen.

The cart drivers followed his direction and pulled up just outside the walled area behind the kitchens.

Thomas’s nostrils flared as the men began to disembark.

They were all ill-fitting jackets and patched trousers, but it was the boots that offended Thomas the most. The kind of heavy soled monstrosities that could rattle concrete, and all of them bearing smudges of dust stains from wherever their owners had travelled from previously.

Thomas glanced down at his own immaculately polished black shoes and privately gave thanks that the Maids would be the ones clearing the damage that the workmen’s shoes did to the carpets of the Abbey.

There were five men, all in all, and a large amount of bulk concealed under a blanket on the second cart with wooden poles protruding out the back of it.

The men climbed down, some carrying bursting burlap sacks, one carrying only a roll of blanket tied with rope wrapped around his belongings. Three of the men were lean, two portly. All had flat caps in various stages of sun-bleaching.

‘Sun’ was the operative word. Most of the men’s faces were ruddy; with noses, cheeks and foreheads bearing the scars of having been out in the sun too long. Thomas imagined the story would be the same on their forearms under their loose, coarse fabric jackets.

One man stood out, with light brown sandy-coloured skin that seemed to have escaped the damage of his more fair-faced compatriots. He was equally dishevelled in dress, but broad of shoulder, and lean of middle enough that his shape wasn’t lost under his clothes.

Thomas barely caught a glimpse of the man’s face under a swinging curtain of light-brown hair before one of the portly men approached him, hand outstretched.

‘Hello there!’ The man exclaimed heartily.

Thomas glanced down at the man’s calloused hand. His own fingers twitched in his white gloves.

‘I’m to welcome you to Downton Abbey.’ Thomas said curtly. After a moment he realised it would probably be ill-conceived to refuse to shake the man’s hand after offering such a sentiment.

He felt his fingers crushed in the man’s enthusiastic shake.

‘Mr Coyne, I presume.’ Thomas said with a forced smile.

Beside him the Hall Boys looked to him for instruction. The workers had their belongings in their hands, and quite understandably the Hall Boys were unclear on whether they should offer to unload the wooden poles (and whatever else was hiding under the blanket). Thomas motioned for them to stay where they were.

‘Yes, yes. The same.’ Coyne beamed. Thomas detected a thick Liverpudlian accent. ‘Now where shall I get my lads set up?’

‘Well, um…’ Thomas’s attention was briefly taken by the sandy-skinned man.

He was clapping one of his ruddy-faced companions briskly on the shoulder and, unlike them, seemed utterly un-awed by the majesty of the Abbey. The other three were shifting about in their dirty boots, jaws open or closed tightly, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. He alone was grinning across his well-defined cheeks and seemingly treating the situation as a fine joke.

‘…the boys here will show you to your rooms.’ Thomas said. ‘Are there more…’ He added, thinking of the pains they had gone to to clear and outfit the rooms. ‘…of your party due to join later?’

‘No, Sir,’ Coyne said. ‘We’ve all the manpower here we need. Right lads?’

‘Aye, Sir.’ Came the lukewarm response from the men assembled behind him.

Thomas smiled, thinking that he would leave it to Carson to tell Lord Grantham that only half of the numbers expected from Smith and Sons had arrived.

With a swish of his glove, that he resolved to wash immediately, Thomas sent the Hall Boys on their way with the builders in tow.

He had to admit that a couple of them, sandy-skin included, were fairly easy on the eye. And he could imagine the work Mrs Hudson would have in keeping the romantic notions of the female staff at bay.

Sandy-skin stared at him a little too long for comfort as he passed by, Thomas could have sworn he saw a dark look coming over his face as he did so.

Before Thomas had time to think, the moment was gone and Thomas was left alone in the yard with the carts.


	5. Chapter 5

Sometime in the mid-morning Thomas became aware that Carson had sold him down the river by convincing Lord Grantham to make him de facto overseer of the building works.

Thus it was Thomas who was called upon to deliver the message to Lord Grantham that not only were they half a dozen builders short, but also that the wooden poles and decking they had brought with them would only reach to the first floor. So they would have to send out for more, delaying the commencement of the building works.

Lord Grantham may have been familiar with the sentiment of not shooting the messenger, but Matthew was considerably less understanding. Thomas took the frustration levelled in his direction with good grace and smirked inwardly at Matthew’s determination to ‘have a word’ with Mr Coyne, the Foreman, himself.

Thomas’s attempts to monitor Alfred’s work in the silver store that morning were met with insolent uncooperativeness. Jimmy was nowhere to be found when it was five minutes past the time the family should have their morning tea (he later found him, unapologetic, talking to Ivy in the storeroom). The Hall Boys seemed in a state of shock after whatever the builders had said to them while settling into their rooms earlier that morning, so much so that the hall carpets hadn’t been beaten as planned.

To cap it, Mrs Hughes pulled him aside to complain that the builders had traipsed through the house and encroached on the family’s privacy by going out the main entrance rather than exiting through the side-door while setting up the construction works. And Mrs Patmore was in a flap that the Dowager Countess and Isabel Crawley were suddenly expected for dinner which meant she had to send out for more partridges at short notice and pay a premium for delivery. This was made more tricky by the fact that the phone lines, which had acted as a marvellous conduit for the lightning strike, were still not working.

All this was, of course, his personal fault. Carson took great pains to inform him of this before lunch while Thomas was hunting for the silver serving trays that Alfred had somehow managed to put back in the wrong place.

Eager to let some of his frustrations fly free, Thomas hunted for Alfred before serving was due to begin. Only to be informed that he had already been sent with a bundle of sandwiches to take to the builders and that he would have to ‘fill in’ for Alfred at the family luncheon. Which meant an hour of awkwardness standing beside a stony-faced Jimmy.

The one saving grace was listening to Matthew gush lyrical about what a ‘fine man’ Mr Coyne was over lunch. Thomas knew enough about contractors to recognise the man had done a number on Matthew, playing to his vanity, fancying he knew something about construction, to get him to back off. So at least Thomas could feel somewhat superior to the man he was serving cheese tart to while stewing about the general catastrophe of the morning.

Thomas’s hopes of taking Alfred to task over the misplaced serving trays were dashed when he returned downstairs to find him standing with O’Brien in the corridor.

‘Are you quite well, Mr Barrow?’ O’Brien simpered. ‘Only you’re looking a little bit frazzled, I must say.’

 _Witch_.

Though Thomas could have conjured an equally appropriate word that rhymed.

_And if your clot of a nephew was doing his damn job…_

‘Yes, you are looking a bit tired Mr Barrow.’ Jimmy said, looking to O’Brien and Alfred to make sure they had heard.

Carson, naturally, chose that moment to exit the servant’s hall.

‘It’s hard sometimes being the only one who knows what’s what.’ Thomas managed through gritted teeth before retreating to the kitchens.


	6. Chapter 6

Mrs Patmore was a strong, confident woman. No other person, male or female, save Mrs Patmore could have defeated Carson’s determination that the builders take their dinner in the kitchens rather than with the house staff.

She flatly vetoed the suggestion and talked rings round Carson about the lack of space, the number of meals she had to make for staff and the possibility of spoiling the family’s dinner (including the Dowager Countess’s nonetheless) until he was forced to give up and grudgingly agree the builders could dine in the servant’s hall.

Two of the builders, a portly blond one and a more lithe brunette, were already seated at the table as the Abbey staff began to file in that evening. Not only did they not rise when Carson entered, but they had seated themselves near the head of the table, taking up seats reserved for Molesley and O’Brien. Molesley accepted his demotion with good grace, O’Brien far more grudgingly (Thomas imagined his smirk as she entered probably contributed to her mood).

The staff who entered later looked at the table in confusion, each having to take a seat further down and risk stepping on the toes of other staff who arrived after.

Thomas was pleased that his own seat at the head of the table with Carson remained vacant, and he stood, waiting for the instruction to sit, with a barely concealed look of haughty superiority. The smell of the two builders nearby, and it was a _very_ powerful odour even with cigarette smoke still lingering in his nostrils, did little to dampen his spirits.

The staff remained standing, waiting for the others. Eventually the two builders stood too, after exchanging a puzzled glance. Finally, the thudding of the boots of Coyne, sandy-skin and the final curly-black haired builder sounded in the corridor outside.

‘Oh!’ Exclaimed Coyne as he entered the hall. He looked a little pleased and shocked at the standing reception awaiting him. ‘Well I never…’ He quickly ushered the other two down to the vacant seats at the far end of the table.

Carson nodded briskly and took his seat. The staff followed suite, closely followed by the somewhat bemused builders.

Daisy began making the rounds of the table to lay out cutlery and the usual hum of conversation began to rise around the room. Though no one, Thomas noted, was brave enough to address the builders.

‘I trust you find your accommodations well appointed, Mr Coyne?’ Carson’s voice cut easily through the general chatter.

Coyne paused, looking puzzled. Thomas winced on his behalf.

‘Your…’ Carson pursed his lips. ‘…rooms are adequate?’

‘Yes, quite!’ Coyne beamed back at him with a little too much enthusiasm. ‘Though that’ll be a fair too many stairs to climb after a hard day’s grafting, I can tell you!’ He laughed heartily, clearly expecting those around him to do the same.

Thomas could guess Carson’s thoughts on the matter. Barely five wheel-barrows of rubble had been cleared from the lawn that day once the inadequate wooden work tower had been erected, and he imagined Carson desperately wanted to correct Mr Coyne’s opinion of what constituted a ‘hard day’s grafting’.

To Carson’s credit, he let the matter trail off into stony silence.

‘So you’ve been working hard today?’ A bright-eyed House Maid ventured, addressing the black-curly haired builder beside her.

Thomas closed his eyes.

_And so it begins…_

‘We’ve done some things.’ The man replied with the kind of surly nonchalance that no doubt had the Maid in need of a dinner napkin to dry her seat.

‘What things?’ She asked eagerly.

‘This and that.’ He shrugged.

_Oh he’s good._

Thomas mentally noted.

_And Irish._

Not that that amounted to much, but it was the first time he’d heard a builder other than Coyne speak.

He glanced to Mrs Hughes and saw her bosom swell slightly with a sigh, no doubt anticipating trouble not far in the future.

Thomas turned his attention back down the table and saw that the sandy-skinned builder sat opposite the pair was smirking at the exchange.

Thomas felt the need to score one for the house.

‘Just so you lads know in the future…’ He said. ‘…we _wash_ for dinner.’

The statement, made loudly and in full hearing of all, had the desired effect on four of the five men. He saw the black-haired man’s nostrils flare as he none-too discretely took in his own odour. He spied the pink face of the blond man opposite turn an alarming shade of purple. The others shifted awkwardly in their seats.

Sandy-skin alone raised a barely-visible eyebrow behind the curtains of his hair.

‘We’ve been _working_.’ He said, emphasising the last word as though he felt Thomas was unaware of its meaning.

Another Liverpudlian, Thomas noted. He filed the information under the label ‘Of No Importance Whatsoever’ in his mind.

Thomas leaned his elbow on the table and hunched forwards to get a better look at the man. There was dirt under his finger-nails and smudges on the back of his hands and down his cheeks. Thomas bristled.

_That young lady sat across from you has been scrubbing floors all day. You see a speck of dust on her?_

Not wanting to embarrass the girl, Thomas simply said. ‘And there’s an outside water pump you pass in the yard…if you were to re-enter through the correct door for tradesmen.’ He added pointedly.

‘The fuck are you trying to say mate?’ Sandy-skin mirrored Thomas’s hunched position over the table, pale-green eyes flashing as he, in no uncertain terms, made to stare him down.

Carson was suddenly on his feet. The rest of the staff half-rose, unsure whether Carson meant them to follow or was simply meaning to make a point.

They settled back into their seats as Carson boomed down the table.

‘Any more of _that_ language and you will dine in the yard.’

Thomas noted that Carson hadn’t actually defended _him_ in his reproach to the man.

Thomas’s eyes, and just about everyone else’s, went wide as sandy-skin went to open his mouth to retort.

‘Janek!’ Coyne suddenly barked. Everyone jumped. Save for sandy-skin, ‘Janek’ apparently, who simply turned his head to look dully across the table at Coyne.

‘We are guests here…’ Coyne said, his voice suddenly simpering and syrup sweet. ‘…and we will of course…’ He nodded to Carson. ‘…respect their rules.’ He folded his pudgy hands, looking expectantly down at the space between the knife, fork and spoon laid out on the bare table-top in front of him.

_Probably the fanciest dinner party he’s ever been to…_

Thomas snorted to himself.

Ivy and the dinner mercifully chose that moment to make their appearance.

Thomas tucked in daintily to his stew, dipping chunks of torn bread with his fork. He tried not to notice Janek down the other end of the table. He was making a point of using his hands to dip the bread, and sucking his dirty finger-tips into his mouth with each helping.


	7. Chapter 7

_Oh wise manly masters of manliness, teach us thy ways…_

Jimmy and Alfred made a beeline for the three builders left in the servant’s hall after-hours.

Thomas’s inner monologue dryly narrated the scene.

He flipped the page in his book and sighed.

Had Jimmy and Alfred been around before the war they would have known to come to him if they wanted the secrets to a dance or a date with the ladies of the Abbey. As it was, they had observed the drooling awe of the Maids over dinner and concluded that cosying up to the men who’d inspired it was their surest bet.

Far be it for Thomas to point out that muscles and weather-beaten ruggedness could not be absorbed by proximity.

Once upon a time he’d gone in for muscles himself. A couple of the liners he’d taken across to America with Lord Grantham years ago had gyms on board. The menservants snuck in after dark. He fancied he’d done pretty well for himself and continued a regime of exercise when they’d returned to Downton, using whatever he could find by way of weights. Kitchen supplies mostly.

It had felt good to feel a bit of something firm straining under the sleeves of his livery, and the look on Crowborough’s face those first few times was worth the hours of work.

_Since then?_

Thomas paused, losing his place on the page. He supposed the answer fell somewhere between ‘no damn point’, ‘no damn time’ and the undeniable ‘ _slightly_ bigger things to worry about’.

‘Evenin’.’

Bless Jimmy and his attempts to sound hard.

Thankfully the room was empty aside from the builders and Thomas, sat in the rocking chair by the fire, so there was no one else around to witness this particular embarrassing display.

Alfred attempted a swagger as he moved to stand beside Jimmy.

Compared to the men sat at the table, Thomas was struck by just how young (for want of a better word) Alfred and Jimmy really were. Almost ridiculously so, in the current situation.

 _Puppies_.

Despite the shortness of his acquaintance with Janek, Thomas guessed he was thinking similarly mocking thoughts.

‘Come join.’

Thomas frowned into his book, surprised Jimmy and Alfred hadn’t been sent packing.

The sound of a deck of cards being tapped on the table quickly explained.

‘I’m Jimmy, this is Alfred.’ Jimmy’s voice was a few bars deeper than usual.

‘Janek.’

‘Patrick.’ The man with curly black hair offered.

‘Tosh.’ Out the corner of his eye Thomas saw the chubby blond man reach across the table to offer a hand.

‘Tosh?’ Thomas could hear the disdain in Jimmy’s voice. Jimmy could never hide his thoughts well.

_And yet he will insist on playing cards…_

‘Aye, what of it?’ Tosh retorted.

‘Nothin’.’ Jimmy quickly replied.

Thomas shook his head and went back to his book.

‘Interesting set up you lads have here.’ Janek said, voice drawling but warm.

Both Jimmy and Alfred gave nervous laughs.

‘You could say that.’ Said Jimmy.

‘What do you do here?’ Thomas heard the sound of the deck of cards tapping the table again.

‘Us…well we…’ Jimmy trailed off.

‘…help about the house.’ Alfred concluded lamely.

‘Really?’ Said Janek, as though those were the most fascinating words ever spoken. ‘And, er...your man over there…’ Thomas’s shoulders tensed. ‘…the silent Raven. What does he do?’

The man was clearly trying to get a rise out of him. Thomas countered in what he hoped was the most infuriating manner possible; by doing and saying nothing.

‘He runs things.’ Alfred said.

Thomas felt an unexpected twitch of gratitude.

_Thanks Alfred._

But not quite enough gratitude to intervene when Janek proposed a game of cards.

An hour later Thomas finished his book. The game was still afoot.

Loath to leave while Jimmy and Alfred were in the process of being expertly fleeced, he discretely flipped back to the middle and continued to turn the pages as though still reading.

Another half an hour later and Thomas was fighting to keep back yawns. Still he stayed.

In theory it was within his power to order Jimmy and Alfred to bed. The builders too, technically. But Thomas wasn’t wholly sure he wanted to test that particular technicality unless absolutely necessary.

Besides, he mused as he heard Jimmy push coins across the table with a groan, a hopefully valuable lesson was being learned.

Jimmy slapped his cards on the table. ‘That’s me out.’

‘I’m getting that way too.’ Alfred said.

_Kicked puppies._

‘Could play with something else?’ It was Patrick who spoke.

Thomas’s ears pricked.

‘Aye, course. That’s a fine plan.’ The words rumbled gently out of Janek’s mouth.

Thomas could tell both men were working from the same script.

And definitely one they had used before.

‘See I happened to spy…’ Tosh joined in. ‘…some nice looking treats in that kitchen earlier.’

‘A fine plan.’ Janek chimed back in. ‘We play with money. You play with cake and such.’

‘We win…’ Now back to Patrick. ‘…you keep us in a little extra food while we’re here. How’s that?’

‘Uh…’

_And that's my cue._

Loudly and deliberately, Thomas cleared his throat.

‘They’re um…’ Jimmy said quickly with a cough. ‘…not ours to play with.’

_Good lad._

‘Well…’ Said Thomas, deciding to chance his luck. He slowly rose and cracked his shoulders. ‘…I’d say it’s high time for bed.’

‘Yes, Mr Barrow.’ Jimmy and Alfred mumbled one after the other. They rose to follow him.

Thomas smiled as he led the way up the stairs. It was a rare victory, and one he intended to savour with every step.


	8. Chapter 8

Thomas was up, washed and dressed, early the next morning. As he left his room he found Jimmy, Alfred and Janek waiting outside the toilets on the servant’s corridor.

Janek was dressed. He wore the same clothes as yesterday, minus the jacket, though at least his face and neck looked like they’d had a scrub in the meantime.

Jimmy and Alfred were still in their night clothes.

_Well done there Janek. Glad to see the wash-cloth isn’t entirely unknown to you after all._

_Jimmy, Alfred, you know we have extra men on the corridor so maybe, just maybe, you could have risen a little earlier to use the…facilities. Hurry up or you’ll be late downstairs._

But after the day he’d had yesterday, Thomas was in no mood to court trouble. Especially not before he’d gotten a coffee and a cigarette inside him.

‘Morning.’ He said casually as he approached.

All three ignored him; Jimmy awkwardly, Alfred moodily and Janek as though he hadn’t seen or heard Thomas at all.

_Right then._

Congratulating himself on such a fine start to the morning, Thomas continued on his way.

Familiar footsteps echoing in the corridor behind him told Thomas that Carson had been witness to that disrespectful little display.

_Perfect. Just perfect._

‘ _Why_ are you two not dressed?’ He heard Carson demand of Jimmy and Alfred as he left the corridor.

A few well-chosen words to Mrs Patmore later and Thomas had procured coffee. One of the few, possibly only, perks of his elevated position.

He decided to take himself out into the yard. He lied to himself that it was to get sight of the weather for the day, so that he could advise the family’s dressers accordingly, rather than a dull wish to be alone.

Before he’d reached the door O’Brien appeared from the laundry store, a pile of white slips hung over her arm.

‘Mr Barrow, might we have a word?’ He glanced down at the coffee in his hand.

_Could you not wait until I’ve at least had a SIP of this?_

She took advantage of his hesitation to continue.

‘I hear Alfred’s got himself into a spot of bother over cards.’

_How could you possibly…?_

Down the corridor he heard the gruff tones of Tosh echoing out the servant’s hall.

 _Ah_.

‘I understand there was a game last night, yes.’ Thomas said.

Mrs O’Brien waited. Thomas gave a small shrug to indicate he didn’t know what she was waiting for.

‘Well what are you going to do about it?’ She said. Her voice was soft, but Thomas knew her well enough to hear the anger behind her words.

Thomas risked the lining of his mouth to take a gulp of scalding coffee before replying.

‘We don’t condone it…’ He said nonchalantly. ‘…but if the lads choose to gamble fair and square that’s they’re business.’

Her lips pursed.

The ground under Thomas’s feet felt suddenly unstable, but he held his nerve.

‘Alfred didn’t lose more than he had to lose.’ Thomas said. ‘Perhaps he’ll be more careful in future.’

‘Well, _I_ think, if it’s not condoned, you need to tell them to give Alfred’s money back.’

Thomas gave a small involuntary laugh.

‘Do I?’ He said. He swallowed another mouthful of coffee. ‘Like I said, money lost fair and square. I don’t see that there’s anything to be done.’

‘And how can you be so sure the game was fair?’ O’Brien said, slowly and softly, in a way that chilled Thomas’s spine.

_Because I stayed up half the night watching to make sure it was. And I stopped it when it started turning into something…else._

He dearly wanted to tell her that Jimmy and Alfred had been a hair’s breadth away from agreeing to steal from the household when he’d stepped in.

‘If you suspect dishonesty you’d best alert Mr Carson.’ Thomas said briskly, knowing that O’Brien would rather pull her own teeth than go to Carson with the news her nephew had been gambling.

He walked away, feeling her eyes boring into his back as he made his way to the door.

_Good morning to me._

It _was_ a good morning, actually. Barely a cloud to be seen up above and already a pleasant warmth in the air.

He found a dry bench and settled down, tossing his cigarette packet onto the table.

By the time he made his way back to the kitchens to return his cup the rest of the staff had begun to make an appearance.

He spied Patrick and the Maid from the night before standing opposite one another in the doorway to the servant’s hall, but he could see Mrs Hughes was already on route to handle the situation and so continued on his way.

He paused at the doorway to the kitchen.

Fred, the fifth member of the building crew, formerly known only to the staff as ‘the brunette’, was leant against the table, trying to get the attention of Ivy and Daisy. Janek stood behind him, offering the odd comment. Thomas was surprised to recognise an air of protectiveness in Janek’s stance and looks to Fred. It was a level of conscientiousness he wouldn’t have expected from the man. He also noted Janek’s barely concealed irritation that both women seemed more interested in him than the younger man he was trying to assist.

Jimmy was there too, standing in Mrs Patmore’s way in front of the ovens, looking thoroughly miserable. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to insert himself into the conversation.

‘Thank you, Mrs Patmore.’ Thomas called as he entered, setting his cup down on the nearest counter top.

‘Right you are, Mr Barrow.’ She replied. ‘We’re nearly set for breakfast.’

_But it’d go faster if all this testosterone were to take its business elsewhere…_

Thomas heard the unspoken plea loud and clear.

‘Places in the servant’s hall then.’ Thomas said loudly.

Mrs Patmore batted Jimmy away from the oven. He gave a grudging nod of agreement and made his way out.

Fred gave a final glance to Ivy, who was still transfixed by Janek, and followed Jimmy with a defeated look.

Janek’s biceps twitched under his shirt as he went to push himself off of his perch on the kitchen counter. But as he went to go he suddenly remembered something and paused.

‘Say, where can a bloke go to send a parcel round here?’ He said to Ivy.

‘The village Post-Office.’ Thomas quickly interjected before Ivy could offer wrapping paper, stamps and string at the expense of the household.

‘Did I sound like I was talking to you?’

Thomas opened his mouth to reply, not that he’d any idea what to say, when for the second time that morning he realised Carson was behind him.

‘Breakfast.’ Carson barked.

‘Yes, Mr Carson.’ Thomas said smartly.

He’d barely made it two steps down the corridor when Janek overtook him. As he passed, he shot Thomas a vicious look that stopped him in his tracks. Thomas would be a simpleton to not know some tension was inevitable after commenting on a man’s personal hygiene in public, ignoring a jest, or interrupting a good card game, but this was different. The malice in his face, in that one moment they were alone, harked back to the dark look Thomas had thought he had imagined from the day of his arrival.

Thomas didn’t have time to ponder it. Conscious that Carson would soon be on his way out of the kitchens, Thomas quickly regained his senses and followed the thud of Janek’s boots to the servant’s hall.


	9. Chapter 9

The day didn’t improve as it went on.

By the time Thomas’s brief window for a break at 2:00pm rolled around the pleasant heat of the morning had given way to an absolute scorcher of an afternoon. This only added to everyone’s irritability and Thomas was deeply thankful for the chance to escape the heat and house by taking himself off for a wander into the woods.

As expected, the lingering dampness under the tree canopy provided a relief from the relentless heat of the sun, but all too soon it was time to return.

He knew Robert was awaiting news on the progress of the builders, so he circled round to approach the Abbey from the lawn.

His forehead began to bead with sweat the moment he stepped back out into the sun. He paused under the shade of the nearest tree and looked across to the still-gaping hole in East-Wing.

_They should get a cover over that…_

Though, on closer inspection, the exposed cross-section of the floor where the wall had given way looked none-too stable. He supposed they were waiting for the extra poles to build the outside work tower up higher so that they could approach the job from outside.

With a sigh he directed his gaze lower. A hive of activity surrounded the pile of rubble and bricks still strewn at the foot of the wall and across the lawn.

_Well at least they’re doing something._

Though that ‘something’ involved far too much skin for his liking. There wasn’t a shirt to be seen as the men laboured, hot arms straining…

_…Christ, glistening..._

…in the sun as they heaved the larger chunks of stone into the waiting wheel-barrows.

_The family won’t like that._

Or Carson, for that matter. _He_ didn’t even like to see shirt sleeves rolled up for dirty work, let alone discarded entirely.

Janek and Patrick were closest to him.

The swinging of their sweat-bedraggled hair as they repeatedly bent and heaved over the debris both appalled and strangely transfixed him.

There was something else too. It was the unabashed _closeness_ as they worked, all of the builders in fact. They bumped into one another, touched arms and exchanged hand-slaps after moving particularly large loads. None of them seeming to care about personal space or the impropriety of skin touching skin.

And Thomas would have felt foolish for suggesting they should.

Camaraderie, he was seeing. No more, no less. Certainly nothing shameful or dirty, save for the grime streaking the sweat running down their arms.

And that disregard for personal presentation was somewhat...refreshing. They all looked a state, but they didn’t pause to fix their unruly hair or try to suck in their stomachs to stop the flesh bunching as they crouched. The men didn’t care if trousers slipped down more than was proper (though Thomas couldn’t help but wonder if he ought to suggest Janek in particular procure a belt) or if boots scuffed on the pile of rubble in the dust.

It was stark contrast to a world where a hand-shake was the height of physical contact and missing so much as a button from one’s clothing was a punishable offence.

He found himself almost envious of Fred’s shoulder, as Coyne’s hand rested there, to congratulate him on a job well done.

Thomas’s own shoulder twitched.

These days his mere presence in a room, let alone in the vague vicinity of another man, evoked a crackling of hostility. He’d accidently brushed against Jimmy’s arm in the corridor earlier that day and you’d have thought he’d burned him. The offer of port from Carson after he’d heard of the builder’s imminent arrival had been the closest intimacy the two had shared in their positions as overseers of Downton almost the whole time since he’d been working there.

The thought of Carson and Downton brought Thomas back to himself.

_This won’t do, not for Carson or for the family._

No, it wouldn’t do, he would have to have a word with Coyne about keeping his men properly attired.

_Dignity and all that._

_Though…_

As he made his way round the side of the house, Thomas spied the faces of Mary and Edith each peeking out of different windows watching the work of the builders below.

_…maybe not disagreeable to the whole family._

Thomas shook his head and snorted to himself as he made his way back.


	10. Chapter 10

Family dinners at present were an intimate candle-lit affair, harking back to the good old 1910s, as the electricity was still not working. Alfred had been demoted to candle-monitor (heaven forbid an errant wick should start flickering or smoking during the meal) which left Thomas to carry the meat, while Carson poured drinks ahead of him, and Jimmy followed behind with the vegetables.

The opportune moment to discuss the building works, or rather the builders, hadn’t arisen that afternoon. Lord Grantham had been in a meeting and then pre-occupied with greeting the Dowager until the pre-dinner drinks. The Dowager seemed to have made it her personal mission to visit every day until building works were completed to reassure herself that Downton was still standing, and as per usual she was keeping everyone on their toes.

She asked multiple questions about the financing of the works, a level of indiscretion no other Crawley would have dared attempt over the dinner table. Then proceeded to take advantage of Isabel’s absence from this particular dinner to critique some of her more outlandish ideas regarding the upcoming Benefit.

‘I mean whomever heard of such a thing!’ She exclaimed, after taking particular affront to the plans for a ‘Bash the Rat’ stand. ‘Usually one would keep vermin well clear of social engagements!’ She said, her voice rising in shrillness with each word.

The family and staff worked hard to hide their amusement as Robert attempted to explain that the ‘Rat’ would not in fact be a real live animal, and that given the stand only required a tube, board and stick of some kind it would cost next to nothing to put together.

The Dowager wobbled her head as he spoke, unconvinced.

‘And another thing Robert…’ She said. There was a collective intake of breath from the room. ‘…I saw a most unseemly display on my drive in this evening. You really must see to it.’

Robert frowned. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you…?’

Her voice reached a whole new level of shrillness. ‘You really _must_ have your tradesmen put their shirts on!’

Something rattled.

Thomas found the eyes of everyone in the room suddenly on him.

_Shit, bollocks, wank, FUCK…_

It was him. He had lost his grip on the tray, and it had rattled.

Rattled right after the shrill denouncement of half-naked men.

An awkward silence ensued.

_The fire. I’ll go stick me head in it, and never pull it out._

And was that Lady Mary actually _smirking_ at him?

_When did SHE get so worldly?_

‘Do convey our compliments to Mrs Hughes on this spectacular lamb.’ Cora’s warm words chased the moment away.

‘Certainly, Your Ladyship.’ Carson bowed.

‘I’ll see to it, Mother.’ Robert said quickly, reaching for his wine glass.

‘See that you do.’ The Dowager replied.


	11. Chapter 11

Back downstairs that evening, Thomas found himself ordered unceremoniously to Carson’s office.

‘Mr Carson…’ Thomas began the moment the door closed behind him. ‘…I apologise completely. My hand slipped and I…’

Carson held a hand up to stop him.

‘The less said about that the better.’ Carson said briskly as he sat.

‘Right.’ Said Thomas, puzzled.

‘It has come to my notice, Mr Barrow, that an awkwardness has arisen between yourself and one of the builders. The one who…’

Thomas would have found it funny watching Carson attempt to find words to describe Janek, because it _must_ be him, were it not for the powerful sinking feeling in his gut.

‘The one with the lighter brown hair?’ Thomas offered. ‘Big shoulders.’ He added, and instantly regretted it.

‘Yes.’ Said Carson, eyeing him darkly.

‘Janek.’ Thomas said.

Carson nodded. He leant back in his chair and gave a deep sigh.

‘Do you…’ He began, lips thinning in distaste. ‘…have something by way of explanation to offer?’

‘I don’t…’ Thomas began carefully, before changing tack. ‘Well none of them are particularly fond of me. What with me telling them to wash-up and such.’

Carson’s eyes narrowed. ‘I suspect there is a little more to the situation than that. Would you agree?’ He peered through his eyebrows at Thomas, daring him to contradict him.

‘I would.’ Thomas admitted honestly. ‘But I don’t know what it is.’

That seemed to perturb Carson even more. He pushed at the pen in front of him on the desk, gearing up to tell a story that displeased him to his very core.

‘The last time a situation of this nature arose, a situation of quite so much unconcealed hostility…’ Carson chose his words carefully. ‘…the cause became clear in time.’

_You going to dance round that bush for much longer…?_

Then, suddenly, Thomas got it. Memories of the look of horror in Jimmy’s eyes after his ill-conceived advances flashed before his own.

‘No!’ He all but shouted. ‘Good…’ He checked himself before taking the Lord’s name in vain in front of Carson. ‘…No. Mr Carson, I give you my word that is NOT…’

‘Yes, yes.’ Carson cut in. ‘Calm yourself, I am inclined to believe you.’

That confused Thomas even more. If Carson found it so easy to believe he’d hadn’t tried anything why had he even bothered to call him in?

‘Truth be told, I found the notion very unlikely when it first occurred.’ Carson thinned his lips again. ‘Given the nature of the man.’

_Well at least we’re both agreed on my standards._

‘Though it is unfortunate perhaps…’ Carson continued.

_That I HAVEN’T tried something?_

‘…because at least then perhaps a suitable apology and chastisement would settle things.’ Carson shook his head. ‘Can you really tell me nothing about how this situation has arisen?’

‘No, Mr Carson.’ Said Thomas, thinking better of enquiring as to what would be suitable ‘chastisement’.

Carson sighed wearily. ‘Perhaps James or Alfred said something indiscrete.’

Thomas grudgingly had to admit that couldn’t be it. Janek had marked his card the moment he arrived at the Abbey, long before he’d had sight of either of them.

‘No, I don’t think they did.’ Thomas said in a small voice.

Carson sniffed. ‘Then he has arrived at this juncture by himself.’

‘I don’t see how…’ Thomas’s gaze flicked about the room as he wracked his memory.

‘Really?’ Said Carson sternly.

‘No, really.’ Thomas persisted. ‘I’m nothing if not discrete.’

‘These days perhaps.’ Carson said pointedly. Thomas closed his mouth. ‘But you must be aware that your…proclivities…were known to many here long before your pursuit of James provided incontrovertible proof. Something in your manner and way of…’

‘All I did…’ Thomas cut in. ‘…as Janek and the others arrived, was stand, in the way that you yourself taught me to stand, and offer greetings to Mr Coyne.’

Nothing other than deep discomfort and a desire to have the conversation over with as soon as possible could have caused Carson to disregard being interrupted so rudely.

‘Nevertheless, you must deal with the matter.’ Carson said

‘I don’t see how this is my fault.’ Thomas retorted.

‘If more than one man notices a bad smell does one blame the men?’

Thomas’s eyes briefly closed.

‘There’s no need for that, Mr Carson.’

Carson softened, but when he spoke again his words were firm.

‘You will address this matter. And you will find a solution. You would do well to settle things with James and Alfred too.’ He paused. ‘Barrow, this house will endure no further unseemly displays as a result of your...’ He trailed off.

‘Yes, Mr Carson.’ Thomas said quickly, deciding he’d rather not hear the rest of the sentence.

He also decided it wouldn’t be politic to point out that Carson could have nipped the issue with Jimmy and Alfred in the bud a year ago if he’d simply reminded them that showing disrespect to their superiors was a sackable offence.


	12. Chapter 12

Thomas lingered on the men’s corridor, a growing pile of cigarette butts on the floorboards at his feet, as he waited for Janek to make his way to bed. Thomas was determined that they were going to have their ‘little talk’ as soon as possible.

Janek had been in the servant’s hall when Thomas had been released from Carson’s office. But as he hadn’t been alone, Thomas decided that the moment was not opportune.

He was emboldened by the indignity of having his private liaisons, or lack thereof, deemed an acceptable topic of public deliberation. Damned if he wasn’t going to have his say in the matter by telling Janek in no unclear terms to grow up, back off and show him appropriate respect. Essentially, all the things his hands were tied from saying to Jimmy or Alfred.

He’d have to figure out what to do about them later.

Dealings with the two of them were complicated by the potential for Police involvement on Alfred’s part (or O’Brien's, which was more worrying at that stage) and the fact that Jimmy, whatever way Thomas looked at it, really _did_ have a legitimate complaint. The closest approximation Thomas could come up with was how he himself would feel if he were to wake up one night with Carson bearing down on him.

It was an unpleasant thought in the extreme. And Thomas had to give Jimmy some credit for continuing to work with him, however grudgingly. He wasn’t sure that he could do the same in his horrific, but thankfully imaginary scenario.

Thomas shivered.

_What was I thinking?_

A noise at the end of the corridor took his attention, but it was just the Hall Boys turning in. No builders yet.

_I WASN’T thinking._

Thomas sighed.

Finally the clomping of boots sounded from the staircase and the builders came into view.

Thomas pretended to be thoroughly occupied by his cigarette while watching carefully to see who went into which room.

He spied Janek entering one of the rooms alone.

 _Good_.

He waited until the builders had deposited their smelly boots outside their rooms.

 _Disgusting_.

And lingered for a moment longer in case any re-emerged to use the bathroom.

Thomas stubbed out the cigarette on the nearby doorframe and made his move.

Janek’s door was open but Thomas gave a gentle knock all the same.

Janek was in the process of tugging his half-unbuttoned shirt over his head.

‘We need to talk.’ Said Thomas, wishing his voice sounded as determined as he felt. He went to close the door behind him.

Janek finished removing his shirt.

‘You're brave.’ He said dryly. There was a distinct touch of threat.

Thomas paused with the door partially closed. He weighed the risks of shutting himself in versus the unsavoury possibility of being overheard before closing it fully.

That seemed to amuse Janek. He laughed to himself as he dropped his shirt on top of the small pile of unfolded clothes on the dresser that had once belonged to Bates.

Thomas dearly wanted to ask him to put his shirt back on. The hardness of the skin beneath was something of a threat in the current circumstance. Thomas was going to find it difficult to follow through with his little prepared speech as it was, without the visual proof Janek could put his head through the wall if he so wished.

‘Could you…’ Thomas said tentatively as Janek took up the cloth hanging over the wash-basin and began scrubbing at his fingers. ‘…could you sit, for a moment? Please?’

‘I’m getting ready for bed.’ Janek replied without looking at him. ‘What do you want?’

‘Right, well…’ Thomas coughed. ‘Well, see here…you. I’ve noticed that there has been some…some silliness…’

Janek abandoned his position by the wash-basin and advanced.

Thomas trailed off.

He flinched back against the door as Janek’s bulk and the residual heat thereof crowded into his personal space. Janek stopped, mere inches from him, with one hand (still holding the dripping cloth) up and resting against the door above their heads. He eyes stared unflinchingly into Thomas’s.

In his discomfort, and efforts to avoid taking in too much of the scent of the man, Thomas focused on the irritation of the dirty drips from the washcloth falling onto the pristine fabric of his jacket.

‘…some silliness…awkwardness…’ The well-planned speech had well and truly gone from his head.

Janek remained silent, waiting.

_Oh cock it._

‘What have I done?’ Thomas demanded, with as much bravado as he could muster as he attempted to shrink further back into the wood of the door.

‘I’ve seen you before.’ Janek said by way of answer.

Thomas frowned. ‘I don’t…’

‘No, I suppose you would not…’ Janek finally moved his arm and stepped back. ‘…remember.' He gave a bitter smile. 'You were in and out. Drugged, perhaps. There were a lot of men there. Lots of screams.’

Thomas shook his head. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Loos Field Hospital, 1916.’ Janek said, the words came flatly out of his mouth like a maxim he had repeated many times before. ‘My brother’s body was there. I was there.’ He tilted his head to the side, looking down at the hand hanging loosely at Thomas’s left side. ‘You were there.’

Thomas’s lips parted.

Not that he recalled Janek, how could he? He didn’t remember anyone. His first act back on British soil had been to expunge each and every one of the twisted muddy faces from his mind.

He just didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking.

‘What of it?’ He demanded.

‘Most of the men like you, they took a foot. Or a knee. Or the strong hand. Some kind of _real_ sacrifice. But you…’

‘I..’

‘Both they and you are scum. We…’ Janek jabbed a finger hard against his own chest. ‘…we stayed and we died there. You…’ Janek jutted his finger towards Thomas’s face. ‘…you do not deserve a life now.’

Both of them were shaking.

‘You want to know what you have done?’ Janek continued. ‘You _know_ what you have done. And since I come here all I think is maybe I tell these people what you have done.’

Thomas felt his spine turn to steel.

‘What, tell them I don’t deserve a life?’ Now it was his turn to cross the space between them. He grew more livid with every step. ‘Everyone who was in this house during the war lived side by side with the broken pieces of men _lucky enough_ …’ Thomas spat the words. ‘…to get hurt. There’s a woman downstairs whose nephew was shot, by _our_ boys, because he was scared.’ Thomas got right up into Janek’s face. ‘So by all means you go and spout that _horseshit_ …’ He shoved Janek in the chest, somehow able to muster enough force to move him. ‘…and I’ll watch them throw you out by your ear.’

 _Me too, probably, but the point still FUCKING stands._  A voice in his head shouted viciously.

‘Everyone in this house knows what I’ve done since I’ve been back.’ Thomas said, stepping away and settling down as he made his way to the door. ‘I’ve made good.’

‘How could you possibly make good?’

Thomas paused, hand on the doorknob.

‘I don’t have to answer to you.’ He said quietly. ‘But you need to show me some respect in this house.’

And with that, he left.


	13. Chapter 13

‘Now I don’t wish to shock you, Mr Carson…’

Thomas came down from serving the family breakfast to find Mrs O’Brien accosting Carson in the corridor.

‘…but I have it on good authority…’ She paused for effect.

Thomas paused too, he was a little way away and neither of them had seen him. He had a feeling he would want to hear what came next.

‘…Mr Barrow, was seen coming out that builder’s room last night.’ She said dramatically. ‘And looking quite flustered I’m told.’ She added for good measure.

Carson looked up and saw him.

‘Ah, Mr Barrow.’ He said with more warmth than usual. ‘Am I to understand it that you have already followed my instruction to speak with Janek?’

‘Certainly, Mr Carson.’ Thomas said smugly as he approached, enjoying the fact that Carson seemed to be taking as much pleasure in getting one over on O’Brien as he was. ‘I attended to it right away last night. All sorted.’

That last part might have been a lie, but Thomas couldn’t resist.

A stunned look from O’Brien was his well-deserved reward.

‘That’ll be all, Mrs O’Brien.’ Said Carson briskly.

‘Yes, Sir.’ She said. She wandered away looking dazed.

Thomas followed her movements out of the corner of his eye.

_Oh, I am going to have to WATCH her..._

‘Now as to the other matter…’ Carson said.

‘Other matter, Sir?’

‘The shirts.’ Said Carson, back to his usual self. ‘I trust you will speak to Mr Coyne about the shirts.’

Thomas deflated immediately.

‘Right away, Mr Carson.’

He managed to catch Coyne by the carts outside.

‘Mr Coyne!’ He called.

‘Ah, yes, Mr…Barrow!’ Coyne beamed at having remembered.

‘The same.’ Said Thomas with his most disarming smile. ‘I’ve been asked to have a little word, Mr Coyne.’

Coyne stopped rummaging in the back of one of the carts and walked over to him.

‘Nothing serious I hope?’ He said.

Thomas cleared his throat grandly. ‘Well it’s a small matter, Mr Coyne.’ He said, deliberately labouring the moment, enjoying the over-eager Coyne hanging on his every word.

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve been asked to request your lads keep their shirts on while they’re working.’ Thomas said, twisting his lips a little as though he found the request just as absurd as Coyne.

Coyne frowned in confusion.

‘It’s the ladies you see.’ Thomas said, lowering his voice as though the two of them were sharing a secret. ‘There’s ladies present here, Sir.’

The mention of ladies, and the word ‘Sir’ both had the desired effect.

‘Oh, say no more, Mr Barrow. Say no more.’ Coyne tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’ll see to it, don’t you worry. Anything for the ladies!’ He chuckled.

Thomas bid him ‘Good day’ with a smile and went back to the house.

The underbelly of Downton was full of talk of the benefit Fair, and what everyone’s roles should be.

Much to Carson’s chagrin, the family had decided (no doubt on Isabell’s suggestion) that the staff should be put in charge of the stalls for the local villagers. The family, of course, would be handling the stalls aimed at the more affluent contacts in their pocket-books who could be prevailed upon to spend a small fortune for the cause.

Thomas listened, barely, to Carson regaling the staff with the news of the great sacrifice the family were making by auctioning off not one, but two of the paintings in their personal art collection.

_No doubt two of the three-dozen that’ve been gathering dust in the loft since Cromwell…_

And the Crawley sisters themselves would be participating in a fashion show to raise funds.

_Mary gets to preen, Edith gets to fish…_

Even the Dowager Countess would be personally creating flower arrangements to be raffled.

_A penny a stem, tenner a ticket, and they’ll be dead by Tuesday…_

For the staff, Mrs Patmore immediately jumped on the idea of baking a cake for a ‘guess the weight’ competition.

Thomas had to hold himself back _extremely_ firmly from commenting.

Daisy and Ivy proposed a stall selling preserves from the fruits of the garden.

Thomas debated offering to run Bash the Rat, as the option requiring least effort on his part, but Molesly had already staked a claim.

Perturbed that he was going to be expected to come up with an idea of his own, or at the very least piggy-back off someone-else’s, Thomas eagerly awaited Carson’s order to disperse to prepare for the dinner service.

When it came, Thomas was on his feet in moments, meaning to sneak a quick smoke out back before getting into his livery for the evening.

He had a cigarette between his lips before he’d even gotten to the door.

He grabbed the handle, wrenched it open, and immediately lost his cigarette somewhere down on the cobbles.

By the water pump there were builders, flowing water, buckets, and many, many penises.

Evidently the builders had taken his instruction about wearing shirts while they were working to heart...and that had necessitated that they find a new way to keep cool when they were not.

Thomas spun about, tugging the door shut behind him.

O’Brien was heading towards him down the corridor. She had a cigarette clutched in her hand.

‘I wouldn’t if I were you.’ Thomas managed to choke out as he made his way in the opposite direction.

‘What nonsense are you playing at now?’ She said darkly, pushing past him.

Thomas heard the creak of the door, closely followed by a high-pitched shriek.

Trying hard to keep his shoulders from shaking with laughter, Thomas continued on his way.

Carson suddenly appeared at the door to his office.

He watched as O’Brien all-but ran past him, braying like a horse, and Thomas approaching at a far more leisurely pace.

‘What is this nonsense?’

‘I, um…’ Thomas fought hard to contain his grin. ‘…think I might need to have another word with the builders about appropriate attire.’


	14. Chapter 14

Thomas’s punt for Janek to show him some respect hadn’t exactly yielded the desired results, but at least the two of them were now making equal efforts to ignore one another’s existence. The potential for an angry come-back or snub was removed when neither initiated contact to begin with.

The issue of Thomas’s hand seemed parked for the present, at least until Janek could rustle up some more details about the sentiments of those around him. Unlikely, at present, as he was speaking to no one outside of his crew.

Carson seemed satisfied at a whole day passing without his overhearing an altercation between them and the world was briefly at peace.

Jimmy and Alfred were still sods, of course, but Thomas’s ‘success’ with Janek seemed to have bought him a few day’s grace at least.

The news that there might be rain by the end of the week should have lifted everyone’s spirits after days of being cooked by the relentless sun, but the news came with its own set of problems.

Chief among them, that the hole in the East Wing was still open to the elements.

Lord Grantham had suggested several times that the staff go in and retrieve what furniture they could, but the suggestion was flatly vetoed by Carson, a star-struck Mr Coyne, and the more sensible members of the family.

The work tower was still not built up to full height, but Lord Grantham let it be known that he firmly expected at least a tarpaulin to be secured over the gap in the walls before the rain came in.

Thomas didn’t like it. Neither did Carson. But since the order had gone direct from Lord Grantham to Coyne there was nothing to be done.

It was mid-morning the next day when Patrick burst into the servant’s hall shouting for help.

Carson and Thomas would have exchanged dry looks had Patrick not been in quite such a state.

Carson got to his feet and directed Thomas, Jimmy, Alfred and several Hall Boys to follow him.

‘No, wait…’ Thomas grabbed at the nearest Hall Boy and held him back.

He’d noticed something he wasn’t sure the others had; that Patrick had a considerable hole in his arm and was bleeding profusely.

If that was the state of the man sent to get help, something was _seriously_ wrong.

‘You, take the bike, go to the village. Get Dr Clarkson back here with a car. Do you understand?’ The Hall Boy looked at him dumbly.

‘If we don’t need him, I’ll apologise myself. Now go!’ Thomas shoved him towards the door.

Thomas made it a few hasty steps down the corridor in pursuit of the others before halting in his tracks and turning back. He ran to the linen closet and pulled out one of the black bags hidden on the top shelf. They were remnants of the days when the Abbey had been a convalescent home, and far more extensively kitted than the small medical box Carson had no doubt grabbed from his office on the way out.

Bag under his arm, Thomas sprinted as fast as his shiny-shoes would carry him.

When he reached the East Wing he could see another chunk of wall had given way and taken part of the floorboards with it. Two poles on the work tower had splintered and broken. Below them, Thomas could see builders and Downton staff alike crouching and standing in a small circle.

‘I’m here!’ Thomas called as soon as he was within hearing distance.

‘Mr…Mr Barrow…’ Thomas could count the times he’d heard Carson stutter on one hand. ‘Is there…’ Carson pushed at the men beside him to make a way through for Thomas. ‘…is there anything you can…?’

Fred was on the floor. He was blue, gulping. Blood spurted from his thigh underneath the palm Tosh had pressed there.

‘No, wrong.’ Too panicked to speak in sentences, Thomas tried to move Tosh’s hand aside to get his fingers in to plug the wound.

‘No!’ Janek screamed, equally panicked, shoving himself between Thomas and Tosh.

‘Let him, let him!’ Thomas could head Carson shouting over their shoulder.

Thomas tried again to move Tosh’s hand.

Fred’s gulping grew quieter, turning Thomas’s stomach to ice.

Suddenly, Janek was gone, tugged kicking and screaming away by God knew who. Tosh swiftly followed.

There was a _lot_ of blood.

Thomas tugged down the nearest person, again God only knew who, and shoved their fingers into position inside the hole.

‘Get something tight round the thigh, above _that_.’ Thomas ordered thin air, hoping someone would hear.

‘Breathing first. _Fuck_ , breathing first…’

_Have you forgotten everything?_

_Do you remember nothing?_

There was nothing obstructing Fred’s airways.

‘Why can't he breathe…?’

Thomas looked down and saw a belt had appeared, wrapped round Fred’s upper thigh.

His brain registered that as ‘Good’ but was too preoccupied for much else.

Behind him he heard a scuffle, someone briefly grabbed at his shoulders before being wrenched back. There was shouting.

Thomas tugged open Fred’s shirt and put his ear to the right side of his chest. No breath sounds. Moving a little way to the left Thomas would have thought he was listening to the heartbeat of a hummingbird it was going so fast.

_That, the breathing…and he fell…_

‘Did he fall?’ Thomas shouted.

‘Yes!’ Someone shouted back.

‘I know what this is.’ Thomas said, speaking to himself and no one else. He fumbled to get the bag open, his bloody fingers slipped on the latch. Someone darted forward to help him. ‘I know what this is, I know what this is…’ If he said it enough times he might believe it himself.

Thomas’s fingers felt numb around the syringe as he fitted the needle.

_I should be wearing gloves…_

_But where the fuck are the gloves?_

_...Fuck the gloves._

‘What is he doing? Stop. No!’ It could have been one person shouting, or three. Thomas could barely hear them anyway.

He felt for Fred’s ribs through his skin, splaying his fingers out when he found the spot in his side he was looking for. With the other hand he raised the needle.

Someone screamed as the needle went in. Could have been Fred, could have been Carson, it was all the same. Thomas’s world had condensed down to the syringe, and the sound it made as he pulled it to draw out what he hoped was excess air from a collapsed lung. And his constant mantra.

_I know what this is, I know what this is…_

‘I know what this is, I know what this is…’

Behind him someone was still screaming, fighting. Beside him the Hall Boy with near half his hand inside the man’s thigh had tears streaming down his face.

‘I know what this is…’

Time slowed down, or sped up, Thomas wasn’t sure.

Dr Clarkson appeared. There were other men.

There was movement all around him.

Then suddenly Fred and the Hall Boy were gone and he was sat on the ground, fighting for breath, staring at the red-stained grass.

He looked down at his front. He was stained red too.

Slowly he got to his feet. When he turned he realised that Carson had been trying to speak with him. Still was, in fact.

But he couldn’t hear him.

The others were there.

He saw Alfred and Coyne clutching Janek’s arms. Saw Jimmy had an arm round Tosh’s middle while Patrick stood beside them. Saw Carson, still trying to speak to him.

Leaving the bag lying open on the lawn, Thomas pushed past them.


	15. Chapter 15

Thomas walked across the lawn.

Walked round to the side of the Abbey.

_In and out, in and out, you know this, in and out…_

His chest still felt desperately tight.

There was too much pressure in his head for any thought process more complicated than…

_Clothes. Dirty…Laundry Room._

So that’s where he made his way.

He left a smear on the outside door-handle and paused to apologise to it. But he couldn’t remember the word for ‘Sorry’.

He misjudged his steps as he entered the Laundry Room and bumped the table.

He grunted and turned, stepping back until his backside was against the side of the large rectangular sink.

His breaths were loud, forced.

He looked down and saw, again, the mess on his jacket and waistcoat and the large blotch of red on his shirt. It peaked up from behind his waistcoat, reaching towards his collar.

He wanted the jacket off.

_But hands dirty…_

He tried to shrug and jolt it off.

He got his shoulders free, but then he was stuck.

Whimpering, punching out each breath as it came, he closed his eyes.

His upper body swayed a little forward and back with each breath.

_Jacket…off… Blood…_

His mind was overcome by a loud crackling in his head, like electric cables unhappy to be bearing their load. It drowned his thoughts.

The whimper became a nasal moan.

He hunched forwards, uselessly, flailing his arms at his sides trying to dislodge his sleeves.

‘Mr...Wait, are you...?’

Thomas didn’t look up, barely registering the voice at the door.

He moaned again, continuing to try to dislodge his jacket.

He heard the door close.

He couldn’t get loose. His head dropped forwards in defeat. His upper body went to follow it to the floor.

But he was pushed back.

‘Whoah!’ Strong hands tugged at his jacket, freeing his arms. ‘Whoah there…’

Thomas looked up. His eyes were bleary and full of water.

It took a few moments to recognise Janek’s face.

‘Whoah…shhh…’

Thomas barely heard him.

Thomas’s hands went to his waistcoat buttons. He struggled. He couldn’t un-claw his fingers.

‘Shhhh…shhh…’ Janek’s hand was at the side of his neck, holding his head up as he went to hunch forwards again.

‘You’re alright…shhhh…you’re alright…’ 

Thomas slumped back, braced against the rim of the sink as Janek let go.

He felt his arms pushed to his sides.

He looked down in confusion to see lightly-tanned fingers working on his waist coat buttons.

As the waistcoat came away the full extent of the bright-red stain on his shirt came into view.

He moaned, chocked, and began to sob in gulping fits.

‘Hush there…’

Thomas swallowed a sob, letting his head loll.

Janek got to work, gently unbuttoning his shirt.

Thomas's breaths slowed and quieted.

All was silent for a moment as the buttons came undone, one after the other.

Thomas let out a deep sigh of relief as the shirt was finally tugged away.

‘There you go…’ Janek said softly.

Thomas flinched away from a foreign feeling of wetness at his neck.

‘Hey…whoah…’ Janek soothed. ‘…you’ve got a little something smudged there.’

It was a sponge. Janek was sponging his neck.

Thomas’s cheek leaned into the sponge and the hand holding it there.

Thomas was sorry to feel it go as Janek pulled away.

Thomas watched, dumbly, as Janek took up one of his bloody hands and began sopping the stains away.

‘Hey…hey!’ Janek said sharply as Thomas’s head continued to roll weakly on his neck. ‘What’s your name?’ He said.

Thomas blinked, head coming upright again.

‘What’s your name?’ Janek repeated, moving on to the other hand. The soothing brush of the sponge made its way up Thomas’s forearm, chasing away the browny-red rust.

‘Thomas.’ Thomas said quietly.

‘And where are you, Thomas?’

Thomas felt the dry back of the sponge swipe gently against his cheeks.

He wondered why, before realising he must have been crying.

‘I’m…Laundry Room, Downton Abbey.’ Thomas replied.

‘Good…’ Janek discarded the sponge and crouched a little to meet Thomas’s eyes. ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

Thomas gulped in a breath and nodded.

‘Sit you down here a moment.’

Janek’s thumbs dug into his upper arms as he directed Thomas sideways to a chair.

Thomas sighed in relief as the pressure to remain standing was released.

‘Now I think…’ Janek had knelt down by his feet. Thomas looked down and saw powdery dust-smudges and scuffs on the toes of his shoes in between Janek’s fingers as he undid the laces. ‘…if I leave these here on the table, just so…’ One of Thomas’s shoes appeared on the table beside his shoulder. ‘…some nice person just might take care of them for you.’ The other joined it.

Thomas nodded weakly.

‘I also think…’ Janek remained down by his feet, looking up at him. ‘…that you could use a rest.’

Thomas nodded.

‘Can you make it to your room?’

Thomas nodded again.

‘Good…’ Janek nodded back. He rose to his feet and reached a hand out to squeeze Thomas’s shaking shoulder. ‘It’s all good.’

Thomas gave another nod.

He reached up as he felt Janek go to withdraw, pressing one of his hands down over the pleasant pressure to keep it there a moment longer.

Janek’s fingers squeezed his shoulder again.

He waited until Thomas lessened his grip to withdraw.

‘It’s all good…isn’t it?’

Thomas got to his feet, still nodding, and walked unsteadily past him to the door.


	16. Chapter 16

Thomas missed dinner.

His own, and the family’s.

His creaky bed, with two springs gone near the foot (used to be right under his shoulders but he’d flipped the mattress sometime around 1920), had never felt more comfortable.

Molesley appeared with a tray of food sometime around 9:00pm, babbling something about ‘Your great work Mr Barrow…’ and mentioned that both Jimmy and Alfred seemed out of sorts that evening.

_You don't say..._

Thomas was impressed they had still been able to work that evening. He prided himself on a relatively strong mind, and if the day’s events had put him into la la land he dreaded to think what was going through the boys’ heads.

Though he supposed they had spent less time in the literal gore of the trenches than he had… Or at least less time feeling responsible for the red ooze soaking into it when sutures and bandages came too slow.

Especially when there were none to be had.

Thomas shuddered.

Long after the lines of steam off of his uneaten food had stopped spiralling, he heard a creak at his door.

‘Thomas.’ Janek’s face nodded at him from the partially open door.

Thomas went to sit up but decided he was too tired.

‘Hello.’ He said from the pillow.

‘The folks downstairs…’ Janek’s sharp cheek rested against the door frame. ‘…they say you worked at the hospital in the village. When you got back.’

Thomas frowned.

‘And then…’ Janek didn’t move from the doorway. His Scouse drawl was soft, more measured than Thomas had heard before. ‘…they say you ran this place…’ His pale eyes flicked up to the ceiling. ‘…as a home for those men, those soldiers, who needed it.’

‘Are you asking…’ Thomas managed to prop himself up on his elbows. ‘…because you don’t believe it?’ He said groggily. ‘Or because you want me to know that you know?’

Janek paused a moment. ‘I believe them.’ He said simply.

He gave Thomas a nod.

And with that he was gone.

Thomas made it up the next morning in time to see the dejected backs of the builders, minus Coyne, loading up onto one of their carts to visit the village hospital as he took his morning smoke.

Carson managed a brusque nod when he saw Thomas at the breakfast table. Several of the others glanced in his direction a little longer than polite.

He hadn’t exactly expected a fanfare. And he didn’t want one.

He had _maybe_ saved the lad, but it was too soon to even entertain the thought that Fred might come through.

It was like buying baby clothes before a baby was safely born into the world; bad luck. He knew the others round the table were of a similar mind if the dour faces were anything to go by as they played with their porridge.

But there was something deeply unsettling about everyone knowing, but not talking, about the young man lying in the local hospital.

The bell rang for the Library.

‘Tea, for His Lordship.’ Carson said sombrely, looking to Thomas. ‘If you feel you’re quite…’

‘Right away, Mr Carson.’ Thomas said with a smile, abandoning his breakfast.

The tray felt like a lead-weight in his hands as he climbed the stairs and emerged into the Great Hall.

From the open doorway into the Library he could hear Robert talking softly to someone. He assumed it must be Coyne.

‘Not just the one man…’ Robert said. Thomas mused for a moment that Robert was somewhat like O’Brien in the way you could tell he was really angry when his words were particularly soft and gentle. ‘…the other dozen workers that were promised. The men who are necessary to carry out the contracted works.’

‘Mr…My Lord…’ Thomas bit his lips at the misery in Coyne’s voice. ‘…I will of course write to the company to…’

‘Write?’

‘Well, the phone lines are still…’

‘Then _PERHAPS_ …’ Briefly Robert channelled all the mannerisms of an eloquent five year old. Thomas jumped out in the hall as he heard a vicious slap on the desk. ‘…your sub-contractors had best attend to them as was arranged.’

‘My Lord we…’

Thomas looked down at the tray in his hands.

He could spit into the tea cup. Robert would never notice.

Of course an even better thing to do would be to empty the hot contents of the tea pot directly into his lap.

In the end Thomas did neither.

He entered the library, served Robert his tea, and did his best to avoid shooting Coyne a sympathetic look as he left. 

He couldn't risk Robert noticing.


	17. Chapter 17

Things were winding down in the servant’s hall that night when the bell rang.

It was the bell to the bedroom shared by Lord and Lady Grantham.

That was odd.

Bates had gone a while ago, having no doubt safely seen His Lordship into his pyjamas, and would be back in the cottage with Anna.

O’Brien hadn’t come down yet.

Thomas and Carson both looked up at the bell, then at each other.

Carson got up, buttoning his jacket.

‘Mr Barrow and I will attend to it.’ He said.

Noticing that Mrs Hughes went to rise with him he added. ‘Miss O’Brien will advise if…a lady’s assistance is required.’

Mrs Hughes nodded, looking none too pleased, and settled back in her seat.

With a tiny hint of smugness at being trusted to deal with a personal matter in the Lord and Lady’s bedchamber, Thomas followed Carson up the stairs.

When they reached the family corridor they found Cora and O’Brien standing in the hallway. Cora was in her dressing gown, shaking, while O’Brien poured her a measure of His Lordship’s private stash with equally shaking hands.

‘Is everything quite alright, Your Ladyship?’ Carson said as he approached.

‘Carson?’ Robert called from the bedroom.

Thomas spied a dark stain at the hem of Cora’s night gown as he followed Carson into the bedroom.

Robert was standing in the far corner of the room. His hands were clutched round the collar of his dressing gown tight enough to show white at the knuckle. He was staring at the bed. At the rumpled covers on the bed where…

‘Oh.’

Thomas couldn’t stop the unmanly gasp.

There was red. A lot of red. Puddled in the middle of the bed, soaking into the mattress. Sopped all over the undersheet, just below the line where the blanket would have covered it before it was pulled back for the Lord and Lady to sleep.

In the candlelight it glistened with a sinister shadowy darkness.

It could only be blood.

A tiny rivulet of it was running down the sheets to drip onto the floorboards.

Thomas gagged.

It said something about how unnerved both Carson and Robert were that neither called him out for his lack of composure.

It looked like someone had been gutted right there on the bed.

‘Oh, my…’ Carson breathed, taking a moment to catch up to Thomas.

O’Brien, Carson and Thomas carried the mattress and wadded bedclothes down the stairs in the dark and burned the offending items on the gravels by the front lawn.

Both Carson and Robert insisted that no other staff be involved in ‘the incident’, as they were already calling it.

At least Thomas’s extreme reaction to the scene stopped O’Brien from trying to finger him for it.

They set up Robert and Cora with fresh linens and a mattress from one of the guest bedrooms, one of the rooms that _hadn’t_ been exposed to the elements in the lightning strike. Not that anyone expected them to get much sleep.

It was past midnight when Thomas finally got a private moment to vomit in the yard by the kitchens.

‘Who has done this?’ Robert had said earlier that night, seeming wholly at a loss.

Thomas wiped the slick remnants of saliva from his lips with the back of his hand in the moonlight and considered that he might just have an idea.


	18. Chapter 18

His stiff dinner-service shirt-front was ruined. Thomas still placed it gently into the small laundry basket he kept by his wardrobe to take it down the next morning. His crisp white shirt was untouched save for the cuffs, but that went into the laundry basket too.

He fancied he could use the water in his wash-basin to sponge off the worst from his jacket and waistcoat to make them serviceable for the next day. Of course that would men staying up into the small hours of the morning, despite his eyelids already threatening to seal themselves shut in protest at lack of sleep.

_But first things first…_

Thomas left his white undershirt on and got into his pyjama bottoms.

He lit himself a cigarette and walked down the corridor smoking fiercely as he went, clutching a candle holder in his other hand. No danger that anyone else would be up by now to hear and wonder why he was walking the floorboards.

He could have gone into any of the builder’s rooms to say his piece.

Apart from Coyne’s that was. He had a feeling Coyne’s bashful deference to the Crawleys, and particularly Robert, ruled him out as a participant in the evening’s…frivolities.

The other men however…Thomas had a feeling, and it was a strong one, that they put the welfare of their group before all other considerations and that they did not hold the respect for the aristocracy that Coyne cultivated.

He also had a strong feeling, based on their dealings so far, that nothing the builders did happened without the guidance or blessing of Janek as the _de facto_ protector of the group.

And Janek was a man to hold a grudge.

Thomas had seen for himself the dark certainty of the personal sense of justice Janek held. It seemed to bubble and seethe at the very core of him.

It followed, for anyone able to examine others with eyes as sharp as Thomas’s, that someone with such a strong personal sense of justice, coupled with a tendency to disregard the rules of ‘polite’ society, was capable of the horrific prank.

There was something almost poetic about Lord Grantham nearly winding up arse-deep in blood that night. Thomas, for his part, understood the sentiment fully. He could feel with perfect clarity the logic and anger that had cooked up that particular punishment.

But there were also other factors at play. Factors that hadn’t been considered by those who had carried out the prank, those who no doubt considered it a cut and dry case of retribution.

And those factors were what led Thomas to Janek’s door.

Ash from his cigarette fluttered to the floor as Thomas carefully turned the knob. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

Janek was asleep.

He was sprawled out on the tiny bed, naked limbs in all directions underneath a thin bedsheet. How the man was sleeping, with no bedclothes and nothing but a thin sheet, on so cold a night was beyond Thomas.

Thomas stomped over to the bed.

Janek didn’t wake.

Thomas stood over him, candle in hand. He put the half-spent cigarette out in the candle holder and reached down to give a sharp prod to Janek’s shoulder.

Janek woke.

Thomas was pleased to note that the theatrics of waking to find Thomas towering over him, face up-lit and sinister in the candlelight, were not lost on Janek. The look of shock on Janek’s face was intensely gratifying.

‘I just burned a mattress.’ Thomas said brightly, as though he were remarking on the weather. ‘After I carried it down two flights of stairs, after getting covered in blood for the second time in two days.’

Janek stared up at him.

‘Don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, would you?’ Thomas said, cocking his head to one side.

Janek shifted in the bed, upper arms tensing as he went to push himself up.

‘I…’

‘Socialists.’ Thomas said, voice still light and breezy. ‘That’s the prevailing theory. A group of socialists broke into the house through that big gaping hole and carried out an attack on His Lordship. His Lordship will be writing angry letters to the paper tomorrow morning I can tell you!’

Janek had made it up into a sitting position, still looking a little groggy.

His sheet had slipped to one side, exposing a long line of skin all the way down from his ribs to his calf as he bent his knee.

Were Thomas in his position, he would have grabbed at the sheet sharpish. _He_ didn’t like being confronted fully clothed and standing, and _he_ would have wanted to be wrapping the sheet tightly around his middle to regain a little dignity and control.

Janek seemed utterly indifferent to both considerations.

In fact, now that the shock of waking was gone, Janek looked to him and spoke as though they were seated across from one another in the servant’s hall.

‘Why are you here?’ He said. The words were curious rather than angry.

‘Because…’ Thomas gave a thin smile. ‘…unlike His Lordship, I fancy I know a little something of what’s what around here.’

There was a hint of surprise and admiration in the curl of Janek’s lips.

‘No don’t you be looking at me like that.’ Thomas dropped the act. ‘I am a _very_ angry bloke right now.’

_And I really must be, if I can’t think of a better way to say it than that…_

‘Why?’ Said Janek.

‘Because…’ Thomas hissed. ‘…whatever people throw at His Lordship rolls down-hill for us to clear up.’

‘Us?’

‘Me and the other poor sods who had to carry the bloody mattress downstairs. Bloody in every sense of the word as well you know.’

‘But…’

‘No, no. Don’t you be telling me you thought he’d clear up his own mess…’

_You obviously DID, which makes you as simple as the dirt under your fingernails._

‘…And just so you know, it was his _wife_ that sat in it. And she’s never done you no wrong.’

Janek bit his lip. A small sign he took Thomas’s point. Though not nearly enough to quell Thomas’s anger. Anything less than tears and a prostrate apology would fail to do that.

But Thomas could see neither would be forthcoming.

‘Where’d you get the blood?’ He demanded.

‘From the butcher’s in the village, after…’

Janek trailed off.

That softened Thomas a little.

‘How is he?’

Janek looked down at his knees. ‘Alive.’ He said in a small voice.

_Not good then…_

‘Well that’s something, isn’t it?’ Said Thomas.

Janek nodded.

‘Look…’ Thomas sat down on the stool by the bureau. ‘…I know you care about the lad. I know you’re angry. I am too, we all are. But you can’t…’

‘This hous...it is rotten.’ Janek cut in, elbows resting on his bent knees, fingers rubbing together in the air. ‘There are many bad things here I see. I don’t like…’ He paused, shaking his head bitterly. ‘…the way things are here.’

‘I know it must seem strange if you’ve never been…’

_…Anywhere cultured._

‘It’s bad.’ Janek said simply. ‘I think perhaps you are the thing worth respect in this house.’

It was a compliment, the likes of which Thomas had never known.

But Janek continued as though it were nothing.

‘I am sorry…’ He said with some difficulty. ‘…that you had to…’

Reasoning that this was probably as good as it was going to get, Thomas got to his feet.

‘But no more of that, yes?’

Janek smiled the smile of a child that absolutely couldn’t promise to behave.

Much to his surprise, Thomas found himself smiling back.


	19. Chapter 19

 

Of course, no such luck that they could just leave it at that.

Leave Thomas, smiling, to step on out into the corridor and go back to the blazer that needed a good old sponging.

No.

Because in the three of four seconds it would have taken Thomas to see himself completely out of the door, he spied something on the dresser that troubled and puzzled him.

It was a little heap of coins, on top of a little bit of rag, in the centre of two sheets of brown parcel paper. A length or string, looped several times, sat beside it.

‘That’s more than you won from Jimmy and Alfred.’ Said Thomas, lowering the candle holder to light up the whole display.

‘Patrick is bad at cards too. And there’s my wages.’ Janek said. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, and one Thomas had no trouble accepting. But Janek still jerked out of bed, as though Thomas had stumbled onto something sensitive, and hurried over. He folded the rag and paper in such a way as to conceal the coins inside. ‘Knew you were watching that game by the way.’ He added.

_Got something else to watch now…_

‘Clothes?’ Thomas suggested.

‘Why?’ Came the annoyingly honest query.

_‘Cause you’re making me feel like a bloater, that’s why._

_Some doughy blob left at the bottom of a bowl in the kitchen by Mrs Patmore…_

_…standing next to what sculptors wish they could get out of stone._

‘Never mind.’ Thomas sighed, sparing a glance down at his own stomach in the candlelight. ‘You could use a bath.’ He said, seizing on cleanliness as the one area in which he was ‘winning’ the current situation.

Janek tilted his head towards him with a distinct _‘Don’t start with that again…’_ in the raise of his eyebrow.

Thomas cleared his throat.

‘Who are you sending the money to?’

‘Not your business.’

‘It’s just a question.’ Said Thomas. ‘There’s a lot there, I just…’

‘My mother.’ Janek’s fingers played over the edge of the parcel paper, casting a shadow across his hip-bone below in the flickering light.

‘That’s a lot of money…’ Thomas started to say again.

‘What of it?’ Janek demanded, abruptly. He shoved the half-folded package to the back of the dresser, away from them, and regarded Thomas with one hand on his hip.

_Seriously, Janek…Clothes._

_HOW are you just…?_

‘Janek you don’t even have a bag.’ Said Thomas.

Janek frowned at him in confusion.

‘You had your things tied, with rope, in a blanket when you arrived here.’ Thomas attempted to explain.

Janek shrugged. ‘So?’

‘So maybe if you move around a lot you could use a bag.’

Janek’s face stared back at him, utterly blank.

‘So…’ Thomas tried to avoid smacking a palm against his forehead (or Janek’s). ‘…perhaps keep a few coins and buy one.’

The look was still blank.

‘I don’t need a bag.’

Thomas’s fist connected with the table-top, as loud as he dared.

‘All right…all right…’ Thomas mumbled to himself, while Janek continued to watch, nonplussed and unashamedly naked. ‘What about sweets, cakes, and what not? Using a bit of your money to buy them’d be easier than thieving, surely?’

‘Tosh likes the cakes, not me.’ Janek said simply.

_If I tap your head, will it sound hollow inside…?_

‘All right…’ Thomas decided to try a different tack. ‘…what does your mother need with so much money? That’d keep a woman going a good few months…’ He tilted his head to try to catch Janek’s eye. ‘…but I’m betting you’ll be sending more in a couple of weeks.’

Janek nodded, still frowning as though trying to figure out Thomas’s point.

Thomas fought the urge to _actually_ tap on Janek’s forehead.

‘There are two things a son can do for his mother…’ Janek said, speaking slowly as though addressing a simpleton. Janek reached to touch the package. ‘…this is easier than grandchildren.’

Thomas noted that the edge of the dresser had left an indent along the flat flesh beneath Janek’s belly button as he stepped away from it.

‘Can’t argue with that.’ Thomas said with a small snort. ‘Just…just keep a couple of coins. Just in case, yes?’

Janek’s eyes narrowed as he frowned again. ‘It’s not your business.’

Thomas stared briefly up at the ceiling. When he looked back down he noticed that the candle was almost spent.

‘Well I know what _is_ my business.’ He said, voice shifting easily back into Under Butler mode. ‘The packing materials. Where did they come from?’

Janek smirked at him, crossing his arms tightly, forearms rippling against his chest.

Thomas looked back at him darkly.

The complete lack of self-consciousness regarding everything (and it was a fair amount) _not_ covered by those large arms was starting to grate on him.

‘The little one in the kitchen.’ Janek replied, showing as little concern for his misdeeds as for his skin.

‘Mrs Mason.’ Thomas bit back at him. Although when had they ever called her anything but Daisy? ‘You’d best not be taking any other liberties.’

‘It’s paper…and string.’

‘It’s the property of this household. And I’m willing to bet you didn’t pay for it with more than a smile.’

‘I feel bad.’ Said Janek, the smirk going absolutely nowhere. ‘I didn’t smile, should I have?’

‘Don’t be doing nothing as far as Mrs Mason goes…’ Thomas paused a moment, considering, before adding. ‘…unless you’re serious.’

_You can do better Daisy, but far be it for me to stand in the way if you REALLY think he’s…_

‘She’s not yours, is she?’ Janek said, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer.

‘No.’ Thomas replied automatically.

Janek nodded.

‘Who is?’ He said.

Thomas’s mouth fell open to answer.

_No one._

Thomas never did do well at rapid-fire questioning. (Something Carson unfortunately discovered sometime in 1911).

On this occasion, however, Thomas managed to check himself.

‘Not your business.’ He said, echoing Janek’s sentiment from earlier.

‘I could guess if I wish.’

Thomas rolled his eyes. But his stomach gave a roll too. He had a feeling Janek could. Not that there was anyone to guess, no one that Thomas could call ‘his’.

But there was _something_ that Janek could guess.

Something Thomas would rather not come out when he was standing in a bloke’s bedroom within punching distance. Especially when aforementioned bloke had been casually naked in his presence for some time prior.

No that would not end well.

And Thomas was suddenly reminded that his position in the household would not stand for his being thrown out of a second bloke’s room after-dark.

_I shouldn’t have come in here._

_I wasn’t thinking…_

_…REALLY wasn’t thinking._

‘Leave it.’ Said Thomas quickly. ‘Best leave it.’

Janek’s eyes searched his face.

‘Ah!’

He laughed.

‘No.’ Thomas said on autopilot, belatedly realising that perhaps he should have enquired as to Janek’s conclusion before jumping to denial.

On the plus side Janek hadn’t gone for him. Nor had he rushed to cover himself up. No, he just turned about to lean lazily against the dresser as he considered this new development. His buttocks bulged a little against the edge of it as he sat.

One hand was up scratching his chin, the other propped up his elbow.

‘I wouldn’t have guessed that.’ Janek said, sounding more surprised at his failure than at Thomas.

‘Guessed what?’ Said Thomas, trying to sound nonchalant, ready to agree to whatever conclusion Janek had arrived at. All but certain it couldn’t be the right one.

He glanced down at the waning candle in his hand and mentally forbade it from going out.

Instead of answering him, Janek started to laugh. A little at first, and then great shakes of laughter that he had to muffle behind his fist.

‘Guessed what?’ Thomas tried again.

Janek didn’t, or couldn’t, reply.

‘Are you laughing at me Janek?’ Thomas said.

That settled Janek a little. ‘It’s just…’ He began. ‘…something one of the lads said the other day. And now…’ He shook with silent laughter again. ‘…what with this now…’ He indicated towards Thomas. ‘…it’s just funny.’

‘What’s funny?’ Thomas demanded.

‘Well, with the size of the stick up your arse…where do you put the man?’

_..._

Thomas might have said goodnight, he couldn’t remember. Might have walked back down the corridor to his room or he might have hitched a rickshaw somewhere. He had no idea.

He had _never_ felt more dazed in his life.

And that included shell-shock.

He put himself to bed in the dark, without bothering to tend to his bloody clothes. He drifted to sleep staring at the ceiling.

_Am I…relieved?_

_Or furious?_

The heat in his cheeks favoured the latter.

That was new.

Thomas normally knew precisely how to deal with people’s reactions towards his…proclivities.

If they were quietly disapproving, ignore them. If they were quietly angry, ignore them. If they were quietly fearful, ignore them (and maybe throw in a touch of pity).

If they were any of the above but loud about it, shit himself. Simple.

But this…

This was new.

Whatever way he looked at it, Janek had been taking the piss out of _him_ , but maybe not so much about what he was.

Happy coincidence for Janek that the two lent themselves to such an infuriatingly sharp barb for his tongue.

Thomas wanted to slap him. A tiny tiny part of him wanted to hug him. But mostly he just wanted to slap him. Hard.


	20. Chapter 20

_Oh. Bollocks._

He was late.

Thomas tried to jump out of bed. Tangled himself in the covers, and landed flat on his arse.

_Ow! No time, Thommy boy, no time._

He got up, stripping as he went. He put on as many clothes as possible before turning his attention to the clotted stains round the jacket cuffs.

_Shit, shit, SHIT!_

The murky water in the wash basin would have to do.

Outside his room he could hear a veritable stampede of feet as other late risers (though not as late as him) hurried down to breakfast.

Thankfully there were still a few bodies lurking outside the servant’s hall as he arrived downstairs. Breakfast, thank the Lord, was not yet served.

His panic eased a little.

He stood where he was, at the bottom of the stairs, taking a moment to catch his breath.

His cuffs felt wet against his wrists. That was unpleasant. The dark black of the jacket hid the stains tolerably well, but the fabric didn’t sit stiffly in a circle round his wrists like it ought to.

He could only hope Carson had other things on his mind that morning.

Someone who definitely _did_ seem to have other things on his mind that morning was Alfred. He was stood near the entrance to the servant’s hall, with his back against the wall, staring at nothing down the corridor.

‘Alfred?’

Alfred jumped as though burned.

‘Mr Barrow?’ Alfred’s eyes shifted back into focus. His slouch became an overly tense upright stand.

‘Good morning Alfred.’ Said Thomas. Sensing Alfred meant to bolt away at the earliest opportunity, as per, Thomas put himself deliberately between Alfred and the doorway to the servant’s hall. ‘How are you?’

From the look he got in response you’d have thought he was speaking Greek of the Ancient variety.

‘How are you?’ Thomas repeated, a little more meekly than appropriate given that he had the authority (in theory) to _order_ Alfred to speak with him.

Alfred frowned. ‘I’m well, Mr Barrow.’ He eyed the doorway behind Thomas’s shoulder.

‘I meant since…’ Thomas hushed for a moment as Ivy bustled past. ‘…the accident. All the screaming and what not.’ He deliberately didn’t elaborate further. ‘How are you?’

To Alfred’s credit he seemed to take Thomas’s meaning.

_Any nasty trench based flash-backs you might need to talk about?_

‘I’m well.’ Alfred said again, though his tone was flat.

Thomas nodded, more to himself and Alfred. ‘Well, I’ll let you get on then.’ He said and went to turn to go in for breakfast.

Alfred bit his lip.

_...Remorse?_

‘Mr Barrow…’ Alfred said quickly. ‘If you hadn’t of been there…’ He breathed deeply. ‘That was well done.’ He said quietly, glancing at the other staff making their way into the hall behind Thomas.

_Alfred, if you need to talk…_

‘Thank you Alfred.’ Said Thomas with a quick quirk of his lips.

Alfred nodded.

‘Morning, Mr Barrow.’ O’Brien’s silky voice sounded from beside him.

‘Good morning, Miss O’Brien.’ Said Thomas sweetly.

The three of them entered the servant’s hall in a group, Thomas leading from the front.

Tosh was in O’Brien’s seat again. That made Thomas smile.

Janek was down the far end of the table, looking incredulous at a conversation he was eavesdropping on. He paid the new arrivals no mind.

That was good.

Thomas took his seat, watching O’Brien trying to decide where to sit…

_Oh best not take Mrs Hughes’s chair. No, no, Miss O’Brien._

…by way of morning entertainment.

‘There are messages…’ Carson’s booming voice announced as he entered to the usual scraping of chairs. ‘Oh, no I didn’t…’ Carson floundered as he noticed the builders were all on their feet faster than the rest of the staff, staring at him fearfully. Carson recovered his composure quickly. ‘There is no word from the hospital, as of yet.’

Thomas took his seat, along with the others, as Carson passed round the morning’s letters.

Thomas supposed that no news was good news. Though he couldn’t be sure with the telephones still not working. He could only hope Clarkson would have the decency to send a boy on a bike if Fred had taken a turn for the worst.

_Or dead._

Carson glanced down at Thomas’s wrists and raised a disapproving eyebrow.

_Really? Can a man not get a pass for getting sopped in pig’s blood?_

Carson pursed his lips.

_Apparently not._

‘I’ll get them dry.’ Thomas said quietly, so that only Carson would hear.

Thomas mentally made plans to hover by the hot stove in the kitchen before taking up the morning breakfast trays.

Down the end of the table Thomas spied Patrick and Janek double-teaming Coyne, however hard the man tried to concentrate on his eggs and floury bread. They were talking fast, in low voices, and jerking their hands in Carson’s direction.

Thomas could guess their purpose.

They were trying to needle Coyne into asking (or more likely, _telling_ ) Carson that they were going back into the village to check on Fred.

_Poor Coyne…_

That would _not_ be well received.

They seemed to score a victory however, if the dull look on Coyne’s face was anything to go by as they rose after breakfast.

‘Mr Carson…’ Coyne said, ruddy face all brightness and discomfort. ‘…might I have a word?’

Carson bristled.

Thomas grimaced.

‘My office, Mr Coyne.’ Said Carson.

The two of them vanished away together.

Thomas watched Patrick and Janek rise from their seats, grinning at one another.

He spied Patrick using Jimmy’s shoulder to lever himself up as he went.

He left a floury smudge, with a few globs of butter, on Jimmy’s pristine jacket.

_Bloody tradesmen..._

Thomas could have just let it be. It’d be a fitting punishment, of sorts, for Jimmy seeming happy that he’d been deemed ‘one of the lads’ enough to be used as a bracing post. Especially given the way he'd reacted to Thomas’s far less intrusive, and equally innocent, _accidental_ touches of late.

There was also the chance that the smudge on Jimmy’s shoulder would take attention away from Thomas’s own presentation transgression that morning.

But, much as he might have wanted to, Thomas couldn’t let it go.

He got up quickly when Jimmy did and followed him out into the corridor.

‘James, you’ve got a little something…’

Jimmy jumped, and glowered at him.

‘…on your shoulder.’ Thomas said, trying to keep his face neutral.

Jimmy did a little twirl, craning his neck, trying to see what Thomas was pointing to.

‘Here.’ Thomas went to step forwards.

Jimmy stepped back.

Jimmy tugged the fabric of his tightly buttoned jacket as far as he could and spied the offending smudge.

He mumbled something obscene that should have earned him a warning.

‘There’s cloths and sponges in the laundry room.’ Said Thomas. ‘Just come with me and I’ll…’

‘I can tend to myself.’ Jimmy snapped back at him.

As Jimmy hurried away Thomas spotted Janek standing with Patrick by Carson’s door.

Janek’s eyes met his.

Thomas absolutely did _not_ want to think about what Janek might have surmised from that little exchange.

‘Give Fred my best.’ Said Thomas, adjusting his waistcoat with a firm jerk.

‘We will.’ Said Patrick, nodding briskly.

Janek said nothing.

Thomas made a hasty retreat to the kitchens.


	21. Chapter 21

Fred was still alive. That much was evidenced by the fact the remaining builders were back to work by lunch.

Thomas glanced at their progress a few times from the upstairs windows. There was no joviality now. Just the constant heaving and moving of debris.

Thomas’s heart went out to them. He could imagine how every brick weighed on their shoulders as they moved back and forth in the place Fred had fallen.

He wondered if the grass still bore the marks of their injured friend and prayed for rain.

There was no mention of Fred’s injury, or the progress of the building works, from the family. At least not during any of the family conferences where Thomas was present.

The subject of the Benefit Fair was raised over dinner, but merely as a scratching match between the Dowager and Isabel.

_Of course the polite thing to do would be to send a little money the way of the bloke currently lying in hospital…_

Thomas held the tray, and his tongue, and stood by blankly as the beaded and silked aristocracy made their way into the drawing room for after-dinner drinks.

He felt like a strange species of statue that night, standing by smartly, willing himself not to listen to any of the conversations as the night wore on.

The Dowager, unusually, was the last one to go.

She and Robert were left alone long after the others had gone up to bed.

Robert was bemoaning the lack of a telephone, worrying that attendance at the upcoming event would be reduced by his lack of ability to personally speak with the invitees from the ‘better sort’ of society.

Violet, bless her pearls, was chastising him that an elegantly written note was all that was required in ‘ _her_ day’.

Thomas refilled their glasses several times.

When all was finally said and done, Thomas pottered sleepily about the room clearing up the debris of the evening.

He helped himself to a good swallow of the amber goodness in the decanter before heading downstairs with his tray.

He passed Bates on the stairs.

Bates offered a cordial ‘Good evening’. Thomas returned it with as much good grace as he could muster.

Even now it chaffed that ‘Saint Bates’ had been the one to save him. But that wasn't all of it.

_Wonder if he still wonders about the soap…?_

The thought turned Thomas’s stomach. Not as far as Bates went, but at the dark memory of what O’Brien had done.

_That woman…_

And there was what he had done too. Namely, nothing.

A good man would have done different when learning something like that.

But hadn’t he thought he’d understood it then? Not approved, no he could console himself he’d never gone _that_ far. But he understood. Understood clinging onto your job with all the fingernails you had while everything and everyone wanted to see you gone.

And she had been his friend.

In darker moments he wondered how things would have gone if she was _still_ his friend.

 _No_.

His hands shook as he continued to carry the tray of glasses downstairs.

He was glad he’d never received what she _might_ have been able to give him.

Because what would he think of himself now if he had?

_Fucking Bates._

The man was a walking, breathing reminder of things Thomas would rather forget.

Every damn time he laid eyes on the man.

Thomas deposited the tray in the empty kitchen.

There was still light in the servant’s hall. Candlelight, but light nonetheless.

Thomas didn’t flatter himself that anyone still up might want to speak with him, but the prospect of a smoke among other bodies was appealing.

The moment he walked in the door he wished he hadn’t.

There were precisely two ‘bodies’ left.

One was Janek’s, one was Jimmy’s.

The two people, save from Bates, he wanted to see least in the world.

Even O’Brien would have been better.


	22. Chapter 22

Janek and Jimmy were sat across from one another, playing cards.

Thomas didn’t spot that there was no money on the table, only matchsticks, as he was too preoccupied with wondering if he could slip back out again without…

‘Thomas.’ Janek said, looking none too pleased.

Jimmy looked over his shoulder at Thomas, a little shit-eating smirk on his face as he waited for Thomas to bristle at not being addressed in the proper manner.

For that reason, and that reason alone, Thomas decided to let ‘Mr Barrow’ slide.

‘Evening.’ Said Thomas curtly, lingering awkwardly in the doorway. An awkward silence ensued.

‘I should have said something before.’ Said Thomas, his voice sounding less steady than he’d have liked. ‘Gambling isn’t right proper to be doing here.’

‘We’re not playing for money.’ Janek drawled. ‘Just giving Jimmy here a little lesson in cards. Ain’t that right?’

Jimmy nodded briskly, eyes wide with sickening adoration as he looked back to Janek.

Thomas fancied he knew Janek well enough by this point to know that couldn’t be the whole story.

‘It’s late.’ Thomas said pointedly. ‘You’d best be going up James.’

He’d never have dared to give Jimmy a direct order, even a veiled one, under normal circumstances. But under the current circumstances he felt compelled to try.

Janek looked up at him, eyebrow raised. He held Thomas’s determined gaze for a moment before turning to Jimmy.

‘Seems like you’d best be going up.’ He said.

Thomas relaxed a little. Had Janek supported Jimmy’s budding protest, Thomas was nigh on certain that he’d have been defeated. But with _Janek_ suggesting Jimmy go to bed…

‘I’ll be off then.’ Said Jimmy grudgingly.

_Sweet dreams…_

Thomas waited until Jimmy was gone to walk over to the table. He leant his hands on the back of Jimmy’s vacant chair, hunching his shoulders as he stared dully at Janek.

‘Well there’s no helping some people, is there?’ Said Janek, producing two tightly rolled cigarettes from his pocket. He offered one to Thomas.

Thomas didn’t take it.

‘What was that about?’ Thomas said, making a show of retrieving one of his shop-bought cigarettes from the case in his jacket and lighting it.

‘I was _trying_ …’ Janek lit his own cigarette and lolled back in his chair. ‘…to do you a solid.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You like him…’ Janek’s fingers twirled in the direction of the door, smoke coiling around his fingers. ‘…that little one.’

Thomas stared at him, mouth agape.

‘You did us a good turn, I was trying to do you one.’ Janek took a deep breath of smoke and breathed it out towards the ceiling. ‘If you hadn’t gone and sent him off to bed, that is.’

‘You… _What_?’

‘I was going to…’

‘No.’ Thomas pointed sharply at him with his free hand.

‘Don’t you be…No!’ He all but shouted.

‘Relax, for fuck’s sake.’ Janek said, both hands splayed as though offering surrender over the wood of the table.

‘No! Don’t be…Don’t.’ Thomas was too taken aback for anything more eloquent.

‘You care for him.’ Said Janek. It wasn’t a question.

Thomas turned around for a moment, trying to get his face in order. One hand raked through his hair, unsettling half a tub’s worth of pomade, while the other brought the much-needed cigarette back to his lips.

‘I did.’ Thomas somehow managed to bite out as he turned back. ‘ _Did_.’

Janek frowned at him, mental cogs clicking as he mulled this particular piece of information.

‘Did?’ Janek said. ‘What happened?’

_I don’t have to answer to you…_

But Thomas found himself doing so anyway.

‘I…I thought he felt the same way. I did something. Something bad. And I found out he didn’t…feel the same way.’

Thomas wondered if he could make it back up to Robert’s decanter without his knees buckling.

Janek’s head tilted back on his neck. He regarded Thomas through narrowed eyes.

‘How bad?’

Thomas could see Janek’s mind working. Could feel the sudden coldness. Could see that Janek was ready to re-evaluate his opinion of him.

‘Innocent enough.’ Said Thomas firmly, though he didn’t entirely believe the sentiment himself. ‘But more than I should have.’

Janek nodded slowly.

‘No!’ Thomas clicked his fingers at Janek as he went to open his mouth. ‘Don’t you be saying a word now.’

Janek blinked, more amused than cowed.

‘Don’t you be thinking about my business. Don’t you be _messing_ with my business.’

‘What did you do to him?’ Said Janek in amusement.

_None of your cocking business. And not just ‘cause Jimmy wouldn’t thank me for telling you._

‘Fuck you. That’s what.’ Thomas said.

Janek snorted.

‘Dirty words from your mouth.’

‘Don’t you be concerning yourself with my mouth or my business.’ Thomas turned with as much attitude as he could muster and headed for the door.

He nearly turned back when he heard Janek meowing after him.


	23. Chapter 23

Thomas woke up with a hand over his mouth.

It wasn’t entirely the first time. But it was the first time it had happened outside of London, outside of a context in which he’d been making the eyes at a particularly delectable bloke for a week prior.

And the first time in almost a decade.

‘Mmmpfh.’ He said eloquently as he thrashed to get the bed-covers off his arm.

In the almost total darkness he recognised Janek’s broad shoulders silhouetted against the attic window.

Thomas’s tongue pushed against Janek’s palm as Thomas fought the urge to bite him.

‘Shhhh…’ Janek withdrew his hand. ‘It’s me.’

The voice was apologetic, fearful.

Thomas was very very confused.

‘We need your help.’ Said Janek. ‘Please.’

Thomas blinked, head sinking back further into the pillow in case Janek made another grab for his mouth.

‘What?’

‘Please, will you come?’

Still blinking, Thomas stared at Janek, as much as he could in the darkness.

‘Please.’ Said Janek again.

Thomas coughed away the mucus that settled in his smoker’s throat as he slept.

‘Alright.’ He said.

He didn’t need to kick off the covers, Janek threw them off for him.

Thomas was pleased to note that Janek was dressed. He was still in his trousers and shirt from that evening, from what Thomas could tell.

And he was afraid.

_Why?_

‘What’s wrong?’ Thomas said groggily as his feet connected with the floor.

‘Please. Come’

Firm fingers were suddenly wrapped around Thomas’s bicep and under his armpit as Janek pulled him up.

Thomas lolled on his feet a little, but managed to step unsteadily after Janek as he made his way back out into the corridor.

Thomas rubbed at his eyes as he walked.

He followed Janek down the corridor.

He frowned as Janek led him, not to his room, but to the one opposite it.

As Janek pushed open the door the corridor was bathed in the light of three candles on the small table by the door.

Janek pushed at Thomas’s shoulder-blades through his night-shirt to guide him in and closed the door tightly behind him.

Thomas was confronted by the figures of Tosh and Patrick.

Both looked as rattled as Janek had sounded.

They stood, in between the two beds, wringing their hands in front of their stomachs.

‘You sure?’ Patrick said to Janek.

Out the corner of his eye, Thomas saw Janek give a sharp nod.

‘Show him.’ Janek said.

Thomas stared, bewildered, as Tosh reached down and raised the mattress on one of the beds.

Two large silver trays glinted at him in the candlelight.

Tosh reached down and slid them out, letting the mattress fall. He held them in his hands, looking at them and handling them like he’d never seen their like before. His pudgy cheeks crinkled like he wanted to cry.

‘He didn’t do this.’ Said Janek beside Thomas.

‘He really didn’t.’ Patrick’s Irish lilt insisted from in front of him.

Tosh was beyond words.

Thomas’s lips parted in automatic sympathy for the man’s misery.

Because he _did_ feel sorry for him.

‘You know he didn’t, none of us did, don’t you?’ The last two words were a soft plea that sounded alien from Janek’s cocky mouth.

Thomas _knew_ that the three of them had tried to steal cake. He _knew_ Janek had stolen string and paper.

He also knew they hadn’t done this.

In addition, he knew that Alfred had been the last one to handle those particular trays when he’d misplaced them after silver polishing.

He also knew that women didn’t set foot on the men’s corridor by house law.

But with _absolute_ certainty he knew precisely who was behind the current situation.

‘O’Brien.’ He said, without stopping to think whether it was a good idea to give the boys her name. ‘This is her doing.’

Janek twisted beside him, a hand coming up to Thomas’s shoulder to turn him to him.

‘The woman?’

Thomas nodded. ‘I’m certain of it.’

Janek turned to the others with a gasp of relief. ‘I told you.’ He said. ‘I told you, didn’t I? Thomas would know. I told you he would believe us!’

Patrick nodded, chest going concave behind the protective shield of his arms as he exhaled.

‘Really?’ He said, as though he could scarce believe it.

‘But…’ Tosh’s voice was unsteady as he continued to hold the trays to his stomach with trembling hands. ‘Who is she? Why would she…?’

Thomas exhaled sharply through his nose, stifling a bitter laugh. ‘She’s that woman with the funny curls round her forehead. And you sat in her seat.’

All three men looked at him with furrowed brows.

‘No, seriously…’ Thomas said. ‘…that’s it.’

They continued to stare, dumbfounded.

‘That woman…’ Thomas muttered to himself, baring his teeth. ‘I swear to god, that woman…’ Now he was shaking like Tosh.

‘What can we do?’ Janek’s voice was steady beside him.

Thomas reached his hands out for the trays.

‘I’ll take care of it.’

_Oh, you’d best believe I’ll take GOOD care of it._

‘You three…’ Thomas said, talking as he hadn’t talked since he’d had to direct a motley crew of trainee medics to run into no-man’s-land. ‘…you listen to me good...’

They all nodded, looking at him in thinly veiled wonder.

‘...and I’ll take care of the rest.’ Said Thomas firmly.


	24. Chapter 24

‘Alfred…’ Thomas said with a feeling of intense release. ‘…your Aunt is a bitch.’

The words had the desired effect. Alfred stopped fussing about how he was still getting dressed, stopped trying to tell Thomas to get out of his room, and stopped complaining they’d be late for breakfast. 

They wouldn’t be late. Thomas had made sure of that by getting up nice and early and loitering until Alfred had made his return journey back to his bedroom from the washroom. 

Alfred stood staring at him, waistcoat still only half-buttoned, with his mouth hanging open. 

‘You heard me.’ Said Thomas. 

‘Mr Barrow…’

‘Your Aunt stole from this house.’ Thomas said. ‘And then she put what she stole in the bed of one of our guests.’ Thomas paused a moment, he didn’t want to labour the awkward conversation any longer than necessary, but there was something just so damn satisfying about just saying things like they were for a change. 

Alfred drew himself up to his considerable height, nose raised in challenge. 

‘And what’s she supposed to have stolen, Mr Barrow?’ 

Alfred was getting ready to fight him. Not literally, perhaps, but ready to protest on O’Brien’s behalf. No doubt ready to threaten to dob Thomas in to Carson for spreading inflammatory lies.

‘Those two serving trays. The ones you misplaced last week.’ Thomas said levelly, watching Alfred’s face carefully. ‘She went and stuck them under Tosh’s mattress.’

‘How do you know it was her? I’d say if Tosh found something in his bed…’ Thomas could tell Alfred was surprised by the story, even through his bravado. That was good, that meant Alfred hadn’t been in on it. Thomas also caught a pause before Alfred said Tosh’s name, suggesting he didn’t quite believe his own words as he continued. ‘…then he must have been the one to put it there.’

‘Then why fetch me Alfred?’ Said Thomas, a little unfairly as of course Alfred knew nothing of the previous night’s events. ‘Why did three of them call me into Tosh’s room – a room I had no business being in, mind – to show me the trays? I’d never have known about them otherwise, would I?’

Thomas could see the cogs behind Alfred’s eyes clunking together in search of a reasonable explanation. 

‘That Tosh…’ Thomas continued. ‘…he was standing there like this…’ Thomas held his hands out to Alfred, making them tremble as he did. Thomas didn’t have the trays with him. They were carefully hidden in his own room ready for what would come next. But he fancied Alfred could imagine the gaudy, intricately bordered trays, before him just the same. ‘…and I swear to God the man was near crying.’

That did something. It certainly jerked Alfred out of his thoughts and took some of the protest from his face. 

_Oh, of course. A MANLY bloke cries, he MUST be telling the truth._

That annoyed Thomas, but he kept it to himself. Truth be told, he had been counting on Alfred’s simple world-view to do some of the heavy-lifting for him in this particular situation. But it grated just the same. 

‘It weren’t you that did it, was it Alfred?’ 

Alfred shook his head vigorously. 

‘I wouldn’t do James the disservice of suggesting it was him.’ Thomas continued. ‘And I’m the one here _telling_ you so…?’

Alfred shook his head again. 

‘Who else do you think it might have been Alfred?’

_Clunk, clunk, clunk…_

For a moment they stood in silence. 

‘Why would you say it was Miss O’Brien?’ Said Alfred eventually, evidently rattled by his inability to come up with a plausible male candidate. 

_Because your Aunt is a bitch._

But Thomas didn’t want to get Alfred’s back up again by repeating that particular sentiment, satisfying though it would have been.  

Thomas took a deep breath. Time to splay the cards. ‘Do you ever wonder how I came to be so sure that James...Jimmy, as I could call him then, cared for me?’

Alfred frowned at him, blinking a little in surprise as though the thought had never occurred to him. 

_Course it wouldn’t have._

There were footsteps out on the corridor now. Thomas cleared his throat, conscious of time, and the need to move things along. That was useful, perhaps. It helped him get direct to the point of the painful tale. 

‘Because I had a friend…’ Said Thomas. ‘...named Miss O’Brien, perching by my shoulder suggesting over and over that he did. Do you know why she did that?’

Alfred shook his head. His expression didn’t wear the contortions of disgust that this particular topic usually invoked. He was listening. Intently. 

‘Because, Alfred, she asked me to lend you a hand when you first arrived. I though you should learn yourself, like I had to. She didn’t like that. She really didn’t like that, and she made me pay. And I’m still paying now, Alfred.’

_There MIGHT have been a little sabotage on my part when you arrived too, but let's not get bogged down with details..._

Alfred’s face contorted. ‘Are you blaming  my Aunt for your…?’

‘I wouldn’t have gone to Jimmy if she hadn’t pushed me. And you can’t tell me I looked anything other than broken when you found me in the room that night.’ Thomas cut in quickly. There were maybe ten minutes left before Carson would be making his way downstairs, and Thomas needed Alfred to be in the right place (literally and figuratively) before then. ‘You wouldn’t have told Carson without her pushing you, least I don’t think you would’ve. And Jimmy wouldn’t have gone to Carson about my reference if she hadn’t pushed him... _Jimmy_ just wanted to forget it.’

_Did she have a hand in your decision to call the police, Alfred? Telling you how much of an outrage it was that I was to remain at Downton, telling you how I was a danger to your career advancement?_

Thomas almost heard the click in Alfred’s mind as O’Brien’s complicity in that particular chain of events suddenly seemed horribly plausible.

But there was no time to dwell on that now. 

‘Tosh sat in her seat.’ Thomas said. ‘That’s all there was to it. And now she’s gone and done something, meaning to get him arrested, for sitting in her bloody seat.’ 

Thomas could see Alfred was still having trouble processing. But time was a’ticking. Thomas had dearly hoped he wouldn’t have to threaten Alfred (Alfred _was_ , after all, the last one known to have handled the trays, and he _had_ misplaced them before…), he’d been keeping that option in reserve in case things didn’t go right. But now time really was running out... 

‘Why have you come to see me?’ Alfred finally said. 

Thomas exhaled. 

‘Because I need your help.’ He replied quickly. ‘It’s only a simple thing…’ He said as he saw Alfred’s eyes widen. ‘…and it’s for everyone’s good. And I mean everyone. I don’t want to see Miss O’Brien arrested any more than Tosh, I swear to it.’

And Thomas did mean that. 

If O’Brien succeeded in getting Tosh sent to prison, and there was a tiny chance she still might, _then_ Thomas would make it his business to see her locked up good and proper. But right now both of them were in the house, and, God willing, Thomas intended to keep it that way.  

Alfred nodded. Message received. 

‘You’ve got two minutes to be dressed, then I need you to take the trays from my room and get them downstairs. Then you wait. You wait until you hear Carson coming down and you make sure he sees you put them back in the downstairs silver store. You tell him that you were foolish and you put them in the upstairs store by mistake last night.’

Thomas could see Alfred bristle at the last part. 

‘Would you rather have a dressing down from Carson or see an innocent man dragged off in a police car?’ Said Thomas.

Based on past precedent, Thomas wished he'd phrased that better.

‘I’ll be there in a moment.’ Alfred said. 

 


	25. Chapter 25

Miss O’Brien looked smugly satisfied, if a little surprised, to arrive at the servant’s hall that morning and find her seat empty. 

Thomas smiled at her as she sat down. 

She looked back at him warily. 

Thomas kept smiling in her direction as they tucked into porridge, delighting at O’Brien’s increasingly unsettled looks as the meal went on. 

‘Miss O’Brien, Mr Carson…’ Thomas said when breakfast came to a close. ‘…stay a moment will you?’

The rest of the staff began to file out of the servant’s hall to tend to their morning duties. Alfred caught Thomas’s eye, but Thomas ushered him onwards with a quick toss of his head to follow the others as they left. 

_No, we don’t need you for this bit._

Thomas could feel the unease radiating from O’Brien. She was no simpleton, at least not in most of the ways that mattered, and he could tell that she’d put together that this must have something to do with the trays. However she seemed to be struggling with the details of precisely how Thomas had come to be involved, and in what capacity. 

‘Thank you Mr Carson.’ Said Thomas as Mr Carson sat back down. ‘There’s something Miss O’Brien and I wanted to talk to you about.’

Thomas spied Carson eyeing the builders who had dragged their feet somewhat in exiting the servant’s hall and were still lingering by the fireplace. 

Miss O’Brien was expressionless, watching Thomas intently. 

‘Don’t worry…’ Said Thomas to Carson, indicating towards the builders. ‘…they’re part of this too.’

The colour went from Miss O’Brien’s face but somehow she still managed to maintain a blank, noncommittal expression. 

Thomas had been counting on her ability to do that. 

‘Oh, before we begin, Mr Carson I just wanted to take a moment to apologise for the trays…’ Out of the corner of his eye he saw O’Brien’s nostrils give a little flare, the only outward sign of her confusion save for the whiteness of her face. ‘…I should have noticed they’d gone to the upstairs cupboard by mistake last night, I take full responsibility.’

‘No, no.’ Said Carson sternly. ‘Alfred has been in this house long enough that he should remember where things are properly kept. You cannot monitor his every deed.’ Carson sniffed. ‘I spoke with Alfred when he returned the trays this morning and have been assured we will have no further incidents of the same.’

Thomas had a feeling that if he prodded O’Brien at that moment she would keel over. 

‘So…’ Carson sat back in his chair, looking between Thomas and O’Brien with fairly naked curiosity, not to mention a little trepidation. ‘…what was it you wanted to talk to me about?’

‘Well Miss O’Brien came to me with a fine suggestion yesterday.’ Said Thomas brightly. ‘It’s genius really…’

‘A capital idea!’ Coyne suddenly piped up, walking over with the other three builders to stand behind O’Brien. ‘And me and the lads are happy to help.’ He beamed down at the top of O’Brien’s head. 

Behind Coyne’s back, Janek gave Thomas an inconspicuous wink. 

‘Miss O’Brien, why don’t you tell Mr Carson your fine idea?’ Said Thomas.

O’Brien’s mouth opened, but there were no words. 

‘I’ll tell him then, shall I?’ Thomas smiled sweetly. 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying writing this story. Thank you loads to anyone reading and for the fantastic comments. I will say proper thanks for comments when I can! I've got the ending now (and how the hanky-panky fits in along the way!) Xxx

The Benefit Fair had been declared open half an hour ago. The ‘better sort’ were anticipated to be arriving within the next hour, the locals were already milling around the dozen or so stalls away from the main marquees. 

Most stalls had a couple of interested parties making enquiries, the odd few hadn’t drawn any customers as of yet (Bash the Rat, God bless Molesley, was among them). 

The other two-dozen or so guests were currently queuing for Thomas’s stall. Their excitable conga-line stretched half way round the circle of stalls and was growing by the minute. 

‘Nice warm day, isn’t it?’ The next customer remarked to Thomas as he handed over his halfpenny. 

Thomas glanced over his shoulder. 

_Just as well, isn't it, Miss O'Brien?_

As though hearing his thoughts she glowered at him from the wooden stool she was sat upon. 

The stool had been nailed to a stout lever, assembled by the oh-so obliging builders, attached to an A-frame mechanism that kept it suspended four-feet above a large wooden tub of water. 

Suspended, that was, until a customer managed to nail the painted ‘bull’s eye’ target with one of the rotten apples that Ivy and Daisy had provided from the reject pile of their preserves ingredients. 

‘Dunk the witch! Dunk the witch!’

_Dunk the bitch! Dunk the bitch!_

Janek and Patrick were mouthing the second version not far away, and a couple of times Thomas almost slipped up as he invited customers to ‘Roll up! Roll up!’ to ‘Dunk the b…witch!’

The man hit the target, but not square enough to set off the mechanism. Chunks of rotten apple flew in every direction, most of them spattering on the side of O’Brien’s face and the shoulder of her thick black woollen dress. 

Thomas had insisted on a particularly thick clothing ensemble, one that absolutely wouldn’t go see-through when exposed to water. This was, after all, meant to be a punishment for O’Brien, not the world at large. 

‘Are you a witch catcher?’ 

The next customer in line was a wide-eyed boy, no taller than Thomas’s waist. 

‘Like Mr Matthew Hopkins?’ A slightly taller girl in a white pinafore piped up from behind him.

‘That I am…’ Said Thomas, crouching down as he spoke, several other children in the immediate vicinity drew close to listen. ‘…I’m the Grand Witch-Catcher Barrow.’ The children drew a collective gasp. From somewhere to his left, Thomas could practically _feel_ Janek smirking. ‘And I need your help…’ He said at a whisper. ‘…I need you to help me punish the witch. Can you do that for me?’

They all nodded enthusiastically, holding out their hands for apples. 

Thomas stood, watching with theatrical seriousness as the children threw the apples as far as their little fists could manage. They missed spectacularly, but a couple managed to strike O’Brien’s knees. 

O’Brien barked angrily, but even she had the good sense not to swear at children when their parents might be only a few steps away. 

Thomas tutted. ‘Dear, dear…’ He said, sliding their halfpennys into the waiting tin. 

The children looked crestfallen. 

‘Never fear, there’s something else you can do to help.’ Thomas said. The children looked up at him eagerly. ‘Now as you can see, witches hate apples…’ He held up one of the barrels that had already been emptied. ‘…but I’m running low on supplies.’ Even a couple of the adults next in the queue leaned in as he spoke, taken by the animated show Thomas was putting on. ‘I need you, good children of England, to take this here barrel into the orchard and fill it with every rotten apple you can find. The most _rotten_ you can find. Will you accept the challenge?’

His little crowd clapped their hands with glee and surged forward to take the barrel. It took two of the larger children to carry it, leaving smudges all down their fronts, but the watching grown-ups made no objection to the dirtied clothes. The bigger children bearing the barrel hurried away to the orchard with a parade of cheering tiddly ones in tow. 

‘Who’s next to dunk the witch!’ Thomas declared grandly.

‘I’ll have a go!’ The next man replied. ‘And a few apples for my lady.’ He added, nodding to the young woman beside him. She looked like she could scarce believe her own daring as she took one of the apples and aimed.

There was a crash, a yell and a _huge_ splash as O’Brien went in. 

A loud roar went up from the waiting line, spattered with applause, as O’Brien heaved herself up the ladder that the builders had so helpfully installed to climb out of the tub of freezing water laced with bits of apple. 

Tosh, standing nearby, worked quickly to re-set the mechanism so that the next in line could take their turn. O’Brien clambered back onto the stool with a face like thunder. 

Thomas shot O’Brien a sickly smile before turning back to continue. 

‘Roll up! Roll up! Dunk the witch!’

‘ _Bitch_.’ Janek mouthed in Thomas’s peripheral vision. Thomas winked at him. 

The next man bought six apples. 

‘I say Barrow…’ Lord Grantham said as he passed by to inspect progress. ‘…this really is a fine idea!’ 

‘Oh I can’t take all the credit, My Lord.’ Thomas replied smartly, clattering more halfpennys into the tin. Already it was nearly full.  ‘It was Miss O’Brien’s fine thinking that made this possible.’

‘Nevertheless…’ Said Lord Grantham, looking up with a little more amusement than right proper to where Miss O’Brien perched. ‘…jolly good show, Barrow.’

Thomas gave a shallow bow as Lord Grantham moved on to the knit-wear stand next door. 

 


	27. Chapter 27

By lunchtime damn near everyone had had a go (or several). 

The builders had all taken their turns, and every one of them had managed to sink O’Brien. Janek’s turn was paid for by Tosh, Thomas noted, but he was enjoying himself too much to make anything of it.

Both Daisy and Ivy had taken a crack at ‘Dunking the witch’, alongside Mrs Patmore who’d no doubt been the one to convince them to have a go. They were unsuccessful, but the beauty of rotten apples that split apart on contact was that one hit even when one missed.  

Any doubts Thomas might have had about whether or not he’d gotten through to Alfred were dispelled when Alfred bought three apples and sent them with all his might towards the target. 

Jimmy had stood nearby, watching but not participating, evidently the one member of staff still in thrall to the rabid glare of O’Brien’s eyes. 

Even Tom and Matthew had tried their luck, the latter with a disbelieving but gleefully amused Lady Mary on his arm. 

Bates and Anna had come to the front of the queue shortly after. Unlike Lady Mary, Anna had had a go too. She didn’t manage to sink O’Brien, but she did spatter her with brown mush and gave a triumphant smile to Thomas when she did. 

As the buffet in the main marquee was opened for the family’s guests (sandwiches from trestle-tables just outside for the villagers) Thomas decided Miss O’Brien had had enough. She was shivering quite violently by that point, and Thomas did her the courtesy of believing it was genuine cold rather than seething rage. 

He closed up shop, much to the disappointment of those who’d re-joined the queue for a second (or in some case, third) go. 

As he counted his money into the waiting kitty box for Carson, Thomas spied the builders in the crowd formed around Mrs Patmore’s stall. They were waiting for the announcement of ‘Guess the weight’; the prize in this case being a particularly delectable, and large Victoria Sponge covered in a dome of white icing with little roses on top.  

Thomas’s smile stretched ear-to-ear when Tosh was announced the victor. Thomas lost count of his money completely, much to Carson’s chagrin as he waited, as he watched in amusement as Tosh, Patrick and Janek grabbed the cake up on its tray and carried it aloft like a trophy; completely ignoring the cake box Mrs Patmore had ready for the winner to take it home in. 

The three of them vanished into the walled garden with their prize.

Once Thomas had finally managed to count out his earnings to Carson he went to follow them. 

 


	28. Chapter 28

Thomas made his way under the brick-work archway and followed the sounds of munching and laughter. 

His nose filled with the scents of the late-season flowers as he followed the grass pathway down to the ironic sign reading ‘Secret Garden’ and turned left. 

There they were, the three of them sat in a little circle like tribal warriors about a campfire, with the largely demolished cake at the centre. From the size of the chunks in Tosh’s bare hands, Thomas surmised that he had done most of the damage, but the other two were savouring handfuls of cake with equal fervour. 

‘All hail the great Witch-Catcher!’ Patrick shouted as he spotted Thomas coming down the path. 

‘Hail!’ Tosh and Janek echoed through mouthfuls of sponge, collapsing into laughter shortly after.

‘Having a good time lads?’ Said Thomas as he approached. 

‘Mmmmm…so so.’ Said Tosh with a grin, see-sawing his pudgy hand. 

‘Jammy bugger, it’s the happiest I’ve seen you.’ Janek leaned across the cake to prod Tosh’s shoulder with a cake-smeared hand. 

Tosh giggled as Thomas sat down between him and Janek but then his round face took on a look of seriousness as he said. ‘Thank you, Mr Barrow.’

‘No.’ Said Thomas, shifting about on his backside to get comfortable, mindful of the grass stains he was probably putting into his suit trousers as he did. ‘Thank you. That back there was a service to mankind and no mistake!’

‘Cake!’ Patrick announced, holding out a lump in his hand. 

After a moment of hesitation, Thomas whipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to take the offering. 

‘It’s really good.’ Said Janek, through a mouthful beside him, running his fingers down his lips with gusto.

‘Oh I know it must be.’ Said Thomas taking a small bite and swallowing thoroughly before continuing. ‘Mrs Patmore knows what she’s doing.’

‘Mmmm mmmm.’ Tosh agreed. 

‘Mind you…’ Said Thomas. ‘…I reckon everything tastes sweet today.’ 

The men around him nodded vigorously. 

‘That was a fine idea Thomas.’ Said Janek, echoing Robert. ‘Very fine. Couldn’t have thought it better myself.’

‘Oh I’m sure you could, Mr Pig’s Blood.’ Said Thomas, forgetting himself for a moment and talking with his mouth full. 

Janek leaned sideways to bump him on the shoulder. Thomas leaned a little to the side as though he were about to go over then sat up again with a laugh. 

Janek went forwards to take another handful of cake from the mass of sponge, jam, and icing on the tray.

There was movement out the corner of Thomas’s eye. 

Thomas watched in confusion as Patrick stood silently, tugging Tosh with him as he did so. Tosh gave Patrick a look of confusion. Thomas saw Patrick give a pointed nod towards him and Janek, the latter still leaning forwards over the remnants of the cake, and saw Tosh’s eyes widen in response as he consented to let himself be harried away down the path. 

Thomas watched them go, his lips parting in disbelief. 

He _knew_ that look. 

He’d seen it a hundred times in the servant’s hall, and at the odd village fete. 

It was the ‘let’s leave these two alone for a moment, eh?’ look. 

‘Janek…’ Said Thomas, wonderstruck.

‘Mmmmpfh.’ Came the reply from Janek still bent over the cake.

_Oh right, the sweet things were just for Tosh were they?_

‘…your friends have gone.’

Janek looked up, fingers pressed to his lips, covered in icing. 

He looked at Patrick and Tosh’s retreating backs. Thomas saw his brow creasing under the tendrils of his un-kept hair. 

‘Why do you suppose that is Janek?’ Said Thomas, shifting about to turn to him. 

_Never…never in a million years…_

_…YOU?_

Janek paused before answering, evidently perturbed by this turn of events. 

‘Spose they went to get a drink.’ Said Janek, unconvincingly. 

‘They’re trying to fix you up.’ Said Thomas, still not quite believing it himself. 

Janek’s mouth went to protest, but he closed it again with a weary sigh and looked down at his boots. 

‘Bastards.’ He muttered. 

‘So they are…’ Thomas said, blinking. 

‘I’m sorry.’ Said Janek with another sigh, looking wryly to Thomas. ‘They mean well, they do, I swear. But…they don’t understand. They think every bloke that way wants every other bloke _that way_ …they mean well.’

_You’re like me?_

_You like men?_

_And they…?_

The thoughts jumbled themselves into a strange tangle in Thomas’s head. 

‘I mean, don’t get me wrong…’ Janek continued beside him, teasing the cake between his fingers, ‘…I’d fuck you. But…’ He brandished his jam smeared fingers. ‘…don’t think you’d approve of my hands, state they’re usually in, touching anywhere near you.’

Thomas barely heard him. 

Didn’t really, in fact. 

He was far too preoccupied with the tears that had suddenly welled in his eyes. 

‘Oh, hey, hey.’ Janek went to grasp Thomas’s shoulder when he saw his miserable state, but thought better of it at the stickiness of his fingers. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you I just…’

His words were dust on the wind as Thomas covered his eyes. He wrestled with unwelcome sobs. 

‘You have friends.’ Thomas eventually managed.

Janek blinked at him. ‘Yes.’ He said slowly. 

‘Friends who…’

_…want you to be happy._

His mind put it succinctly, but he couldn’t quite get the words out over his trembling tongue. 

The next sob came loudly, and Thomas’s hand couldn’t muffle it. 

‘Thomas…?’

‘Everyone here knows.’ Thomas said, abandoning trying to hide his face. ‘And them and everyone whose ever known has used it against me or hated me for it.’ The flood-gates well and truly open in every sense of the word, Thomas couldn’t stop himself. ‘Blokes have tossed me aside ‘cause they knew they could, one blackmailed me ‘cause he was only interested in on of Grantham’s daughters…I thought I had something with Jimmy but that was O’Brien’s doing…I went and kissed him, so stupid. And when I did…Nearly lost my job, lost any respect they still had for me, nearly got arrested for fuck’s sake.’ Thomas’s face was in his hand again. ‘But you’ve got friends…who know.’

‘You kissed him?’ Said Janek.

‘Yes I fucking kissed him!’ Said Thomas, a little incredulous at that being the one take-away Janek had from that particular monologue. 

‘You kissed him?’

‘Yes, and I near lost everything for it.’ Said Thomas.

‘You _kissed_ …?’

Thomas continued as though Janek hadn’t spoken. ‘But you’ve got friends that know, and they just…’ He trailed off, gulping.

‘They know.’ Said Janek, giving a small shrug as he eyed Thomas carefully. ‘They don’t really understand but…what does it matter?’

‘It matters.’ Thomas gasped, coming up for air again. ‘Don’t you understand how much it matters?’

Janek shrugged again, leaning back onto his hands. ‘Not everyone likes it.’ He offered. ‘But for most it don’t matter if I do my job right. And for those it matters to…well, I set ‘em straight.’ Thomas saw a twitch in Janek’s bicep as he spoke. 

Thomas exhaled sharply through his nose and leaned forwards onto his bent knees. ‘So simple.’ He said bitterly.

‘Yes.’ Said Janek. ‘It is that simple.’

Thomas shook his head. ‘It’s really not.’

Janek mimicked Thomas’s posture, the cake tray resting between his splayed legs as he leaned forwards and turned his head to Thomas. ‘Why not?’

‘There’s rules.’ Thomas said. ‘There’s marriage, and all the things that are meant to come with it. And only with it. There’s what’s proper. There’s the proper way things are done.’

Here Janek gave a bitter laugh too. ‘I know about those things.’ He conceded. 

‘Spose for me there’s something else too.’ Said Thomas dolefully. ‘This world I’m in…there’s not that kind of….’ He couldn’t find the word. _Permissiveness_ , his mind offered. ‘There’s the right clothes to wear, the right things to say, the right things to do.’ Thomas’s mind conjured an image of Janek’s sticky fingers reaching for his pristine suit-jacket, and stopping. ‘And I know it does stop me from doing things. ‘Cause I have to be neat, I have to be proper. I have to be seen to follow the rules. But, but I’m made better by being in this world…’ He continued, depressing himself utterly with the realisation of how much he believed it. ‘…I’m rubbing shoulders with the likes of which most people never get to meet. I watch them brush their teeth, I serve them their meals, I take their orders…And all of it in one of the greatest houses in England. What would I be otherwise? I feel great for being close to greatness. That’s the sad truth of it.’

Janek had listened to the diatribe with nothing but a subtle grimace. Now that it was done he began to speak.

‘I don’t…’

_Understand? No, you wouldn’t._

‘Mr Barrow! Mr Barrow!’ Little voices echoed from down in the gardens. 

Thomas quickly swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his suit-jacket and returned the cake-smeared handkerchief to his pocket.

‘Witch-Catcher Barrow!’ One of the little voices called. 

Both Thomas and Janek got to their feet. 

‘There you are!’ A delighted little girl exclaimed as she entered the ‘Secret’ Garden. ‘They’re all looking for you, Mr Barrow.’ 

Thomas and Janek exclaimed a confused glance before Thomas took the hand the little girl offered and allowed himself to be pulled back towards the bustling noise of the Fair.  

 


	29. Chapter 29

‘Ah, here he is!’ Said Lord Grantham. 

Thomas emerged from the walled gardens to find a crowd assembled in front of the podium by the main marquee. The faces all turned to him as Lord Grantham spoke, and every one of them wore a smile. 

A few of the ladies nearby gave an audible ‘Aaah’ at the sight of him being led out of the gardens by the little girl with bouncing curls. 

_What the…?_

‘Here he is!’ Lord Grantham repeated from his position on the podium. Lady Mary stood by his side. ‘Mr Barrow…’ Lord Grantham paused and drew a deep breath.

Thomas’s stomach gave a turn. 

‘Mr Barrow is one of the unsung heroes of Downton.’ Said Lord Grantham to the assembled crowd, his voice carrying on the wind across the silent lawn. ‘He has laboured long and consistently in the interests of this household and my family. He has been as diligent in his regular duties as he has been in undertaking less orthodox work such as recovering one’s missing dog…’ There was a polite chuckle and spattering of claps from the crowd. Thomas stood stock still, one hand still clutched in the grip of the little girl, feeling he might keel over. 

‘…During the war he took charge of the household, caring for the needs of convalescing soldiers.’ Lord Grantham paused a moment before continuing, voice crisp and clear. ‘The skills he gained during that time enabled him to render the ultimate service in saving the life of a builder these past two weeks hence. Mr Barrow’s quick thinking and cool head brought a man back from the brink of death in the wake of a terrible accident.’

Thomas felt simultaneously too hot and too cold. He was thankful for the steadying grip of the tiny fingers round his palm. 

‘I would like to invite Mr Barrow up to the podium to accept a small token of our appreciation…’

_Oh shit._

‘…and charge you all to show your appreciation for this remarkable man. On behalf of all of us, Mr Barrow.’ Lord Grantham nodded his head to Thomas and began to clap. 

Thomas forced himself forwards as the air rang with the applause of a hundred briskly clapping hands. 

His little companion took him as far as the podium steps before running back to her beaming mother. Thomas was sorry to see her go. 

‘Mr Barrow…’ Lord Grantham reached out a hand. Thomas automatically thrust his hand forwards and found it enveloped in a tight hand-shake. Lord Grantham reached up his free hand and rested it over their clasped hands, keeping Thomas in place. ‘Well done Barrow.’ He said. 

Thomas nodded in bewilderment, unable to muster words as Lady Mary moved to hand him a plaque mounted on fine dark-wood. The plaque was much of a muchness, engraved with something about ‘For services to Downton…’ but it was followed by two large whisky bottles tied tightly together with looped red ribbon, which to Thomas’s addled brain were a far more enticing prospect. 

‘For Mr Barrow!’ Lord Grantham announced. 

The applause picked up in intensity again as Lady Mary leaned and pecked him on the cheek. 

A great whooping from the back of the crowd drew the attention of a few of the more delicate guests. The builders, Janek back among them, jumped in the air and cupped their hands to call loudly over the crowd. 

Thomas couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he finally managed a smile for them and for the rest of the Downton staff (minus O’Brien who was no doubt still changing her clothes) who were clapping enthusiastically in a line by the podium. 

Never in his deepest fantasies (and there had been more than a few centring on a situation like this in his more arrogant days) could Thomas have conjured such a perfect moment. But now that it was here, he couldn’t stop his damn cheeks from flaming and was at a complete and utter loss for words. 

_Can I get down now? Dear God, please say I can get down now…_

With a final nod, Lord Grantham mercifully stepped back to allow Thomas to leave the podium. 

Plaque and whisky clutched to his side with one hand, Thomas found the other hand repeatedly grabbed by spectators, both familiar and unknown, as he made his way through the crush of people. 

He harried away to the house to deposit his prizes, and to hide until his cheeks returned to their normal colour. 


	30. Chapter 30

While most of the family, and those with sufficiently bulging pocket-books, retired to the main marquee for the afternoon’s fashion show the villagers had their own afternoon’s entertainment plans. 

A tug-of-war between the house staff and the villagers had become something of a tradition at village fetes over the years, and this particular event was to be no exception. 

A table heaving with barrels of beer was also something of a tradition, and had been obligingly provided by the proprietor of the Village Inn. 

Thomas had to endure a series of shoulder slaps as he re-emerged, mostly from the builders, and a couple more handshakes from members of the staff. 

‘Isn’t it a bit rough for Mr Barrow?’ Jimmy remarked as they began to form up for the tug-of-war. 

And just like that the world was back to usual. 

‘Oh I think I can manage.’ Said Thomas, entrusting his suit-jacket to Daisy’s waiting hands as he went to take his place. 

The builders stood in the huddle of spectators, evidently perturbed by Tom’s insistence that it wouldn’t be ‘sporting’ for them to take part on behalf of the household. 

For his part, Thomas thought it’d be damn sporting indeed to have all those strong arms tugging for the team. But he conceded Tom’s point that a victory won with the aid of the builders wouldn’t be a ‘true’ victory for the honour of the house (or aid in proving that the men of the household were not the noodle-armed pansies that most of the village bucks seemed to assume they were). 

A lot of money changed hands amongst the circle of spectators, and that money had nothing to do with funding the building works. Oh no, that money belonged to them, the common folk, and to whomever backed the victors. 

Patrick, evidently stung by the rejection, made a point of betting on the villagers. 

As per usual, the men of the household were for the most part the subject of the bets rather than placing any themselves. But Thomas did notice Jimmy pressing money into the hands of one of the local bookies before shucking off his jacket and taking his position by the rope. He’d been in the barrels already, and more times than proper, and swayed on his feet a little as he waited with the others. 

Thomas rolled his eyes. 

‘Up!’ Mr Bryce from the Village Inn called. Up came the rope clutched in the men’s hands, tied with a scarlet handkerchief at the centre. ‘Take the strain!’ He yelled. The rope was suddenly taunt as the men on both sides leant back, forearms straining. 

‘Go!’

Go they did, but moving nowhere fast. The handkerchief stayed stubbornly almost at dead centre, which was just about all the ‘victory’ the men of the household could expect if past precedent was anything to go by, but still they tugged. 

‘Nnnnygh!’ Thomas wasn’t sure if it was him yelling or Tom in front of him.

Thomas’s hair tickled at his face as he fought to keep his feet planted, even inching slightly back, as he put as much of his back into it as he was able. 

‘Come on there!’ 

‘Let them have it!’ 

It wasn’t wholly clear who was cheering for who in the rag-tag assemblage, but Thomas was nigh on certain a loud ‘Pull you fuckers!’ must have come from the builders as even the villagers would balk at such strong profanity with women and children present. 

And ‘Pull’ the fuckers did. Each for their own reasons, some of which flashed before Thomas’s eyes as the line of men in front and behind him struggled for purchase on the rope and the ground. 

The bobbing blond head of Jimmy for example; money and manliness. 

Thomas would have rolled his eyes again if he’d had the spare energy to do it. But he was thinking of his own manliness at that point. Because he had it, oh yes, he had it in spades. And it was more important than ever that those watching and those tugging with him knew it. 

_If the shit of the last year is good for anything, let it be THIS!_

He put on a burst of force in perfect synchronicity with Tom and Molesley either side of him.  

‘Aaaaaaah!’ Came the simple battle-cry.

The villagers stumbled forwards, bumped into one another, and fell. 

The house staff fell too, over and hard, onto their backsides. 

The handkerchief landed somewhere between Jimmy’s splayed legs. 

It took a moment for them to realise it was over. 

‘Yes, yes...YES!’

Christ only knew who was shouting but Thomas, on his rear, stained with grass and sweat, with his hair flopping every which-way, felt the euphoria deep in his soul.

‘Yes!’ He was on his feet, dragging Tom towards him as the nearest body he could get ahold of for a gleeful embrace. 

‘That’s what it’s about!’ Tosh’s thick voice boomed through the applause. Thomas spied him over Tom’s shoulder. Janek was stood beside him with a look of surprise, while Patrick (no doubt thinking of his wasted money) looked momentarily down in the dumps before taking up the cheer. ‘That’s what it’s about! YES, my sons!’  

Handshakes and slaps all round as the others got to their feet, moving en masse towards the beer barrel set aside for the victors.


	31. Chapter 31

‘Well he’s givin’ it all that and no mistake.’ Said Patrick, sipping the beer Thomas had insisted Tom pour for him from the victory barrel. He was looking to Jimmy. 

The finer points of the colloquialism were lost on Thomas, even more so with Patrick’s increasingly slurred and strong Irish lilt. But he could guess at Patrick’s meaning. 

Jimmy was stood, beer in hand, leaning a little forward with his shoulders hunched to keep his balance. He was regaling the none-too-impressed pair of villagers in front of him with the finer points of how the house staff had managed to beat their team. 

Thomas was glad of the surrounding bustle of voices. He could barely hear Jimmy, but what he could hear had him wincing in second-hand embarrassment. Words like ‘strategy’ and ‘strength’ filtered through, as well as the laughable implication that Jimmy…

_Shortest little runt of the lot of us…_

…had been the one to tug the team to victory. 

Jimmy wasn’t without muscle, Thomas would freely acknowledged that when he wasn’t giving in to his inner bitch. In fact the evidence of it, even under his uniform…

_And filling out the short sleeves of that damn night-shirt…_

…had been one of the many things about him that had so bedazzled Thomas when they had first met. And he would also freely admit, if questioned directly, that Jimmy had probably been tugging just as hard as himself in the quest for validation.   

But _Jimmy_ as the decisive factor in victory? _Jimmy_ claiming ultimate bragging rights?

Normally Thomas wouldn’t give a second thought to Jimmy’s delusions of grandeur, he knew it wasn’t really his business after all. And he’d become far too used to it to give any more than the occasional eye-roll.  But seeing Jimmy metaphorically tweak the noses of two blokes a foot taller than him, who each had an axe to grind, set Thomas’s stomach clenching uncomfortably. 

He wondered if he could prevail upon Alfred, or anybody really, to extract Jimmy and bring him safely back into the folds of the house staff. 

Before he could attempt to follow through, Mrs Hughes appeared beside him to personally congratulate him on his honours from Lord Grantham earlier that day. 

By the time she had finished bending his ear, Thomas had lost sight of Jimmy. 

Tom took up the place of Mrs Hughes shortly after and the two of them made their way over to the remnants of the buffet table to chase down the beer with some crustless sandwiches. Alfred and Molesley came with them. The four of them traded congratulations and sentiments of disbelief at their victory over the work-strong backs of the burly villagers. 

_See Jimmy…that’s how it’s done._

_Humbly, and in PRIVATE._

_Unless you want your nose bashed in and…_

Where _was_ Jimmy? Thomas suddenly had a strong need to find him.  

He scanned the crowds of people milling about, a task made more difficult now by the emergence of Lord Grantham’s guests (pocket-books no doubt a little lighter) from the main marquee. 

_Where IS he…?_

Thomas finally saw him, or thought he did, as a little speck far away down the lawn. He was staggering more than walking. One elbow was bent up to hold his hand to his face. No doubt to clutch a beer mug to his lips as he went. 

_That’s Jimmy alright._

His mind dully offered. 

Jimmy was heading towards the folly, a little fake Grecian temple built sometime in the mid 1800s. It stood in atop a hill (equally fake) in the distance, overlooking the lawn but also far removed from the festivities of the fair. 

_Perfect place for a piss if you’re too lazy to…_

There were three men following behind him. 

Even at a distance Thomas could recognise the swagger and clothing of the men they’d recently pulled into the dirt. 

Sandwich forgotten, as well as the men he was with, Thomas took off after them.

They had a good lead on him. Both Jimmy and the village men had vanished behind the back wall of the folly while he was still making his way up the slope. 

Thomas’s breath came in short, sharp puffs as he hurried on.

He heard a shout from up ahead, behind the wall, and broke into a run.

‘That’s ours, ain’t it?’ Thomas heard someone growling as he rounded the wall.

Jimmy was red faced, constricted by his tight collar as well as the hand one of the men had at his throat. The other two were standing by his sides. One of them (Thomas assumed the one who had spoken) was fumbling around inside Jimmy’s jacket, no doubt looking for the pocket in which Jimmy had stashed his winnings from the tug-of-war bet. 

Jimmy gave a sharp grunt and tried to bat the man’s hand away. 

Part of Thomas thought ‘ _Stupid boy, just give it to them_ ’ but another, stronger, part of him saw red as one of the men gave a sharp slap to the side of Jimmy’s face. 

‘What’s this then?’ Thomas said. 

The group looked towards him. It took less than a second for the look of surprise of the three men in flat-caps to give way to mocking leers. 

‘Just goin’ about business.’ Said the one closest to Thomas. ‘And you’d best be on your…’

He didn’t finish. The greasy hand that clenched at Jimmy’s throat and made him wince and sob made sure of that. 

Without taking a moment to think, Thomas barrelled in. 

He grabbed Jimmy by the lapels and managed to tug him out of the little triangle of menace before the men realised what was what. 

Immediately Thomas found his arms wrenched behind his back by one of the men. The hand of a second man was tangled in his hair, pulling his head back. The third was readying for a…

‘Run, Jimmy!’ Thomas managed to bleat out before the punch fell.

He didn’t know whether Jimmy had or not, as his head was suddenly swimming and falling forwards. 

A good chunk of hair tore out in the fingers of the man who’d been holding his head. 

‘Fu…’ Thomas didn’t manage to get the word out as a harsh jab to his stomach had him wretching. 

_Arms free…arms free…_

But he couldn’t move them a damn inch. The man pressed behind him had him good and proper.  

He looked up through swinging tendrils of black hair, his eyes blurred as he saw the fist belonging to the man in front ready itself for another go. 

‘What’s this then?’

Thomas had the strangest feeling of déjà vu as he heard his own words spoken back to him from the side of the folly. Only this time the words were in a thick Liverpudlian drawl. 

As Thomas lolled in the grip of the man behind him, the strong fingers of the second man once again taking purchase on his hair, he saw the twin figures of Janek and Patrick standing by the corner of the folly wall. Jimmy was there too, still red faced, standing unsteadily behind them.

‘I don’t rightly know.’ Tosh’s voice answered Janek. 

Thomas’s rattled brain registered that the voice came from the other side, behind him and the men holding him. 

The man in front, readying his fist for another punch, reacted differently to the appearance of Janek and the others than he had to Thomas’s interruption earlier. 

_Me he could discard._

_But them? Them he'd have to..._

‘What are you lads doing up here?’ Said the man readying the punch, choosing attempted intimidation rather than camaraderie as a way to neutralise the newcomers. 

_Idiot._

Thomas thought to himself. 

‘Well me…’ Janek took a step forwards. 

Thomas saw his face.

_Run._

Thomas thought, even in the midst of pain, even addled by confusion. 

Even though the man standing in front of him had been about to knock his face six ways from Sunday the moment before. 

_RUN, you fucking…_

A sharp shove to the side of the head, taking less time than it’d take a man to blink, and a smear of the man’s nose and forehead decorated the folly wall. 

The man went down. 

‘…why I’m just here to take a piss.’ 

Thomas felt the hands holding him tighten, in shock rather than by design.

There was a rustle of fabric as Janek’s fingers lazily un-popped his buttons. 

A thick stream of piss followed, splashing over the shoulders and face of the gurgling man below. 

‘Isn’t that why you’re here lads?’ Said Janek, looking down his cock to aim the stream to where it’d cause maximum upset. ‘To take a piss?’

Thomas had no doubt that the men behind him were currently doing so.

Not to mention Jimmy. 

The hands on Thomas’s arms were suddenly wrenched away. 

Thomas fell to the floor. 

Tosh grappled with one man, taking his arms as the man had taken Thomas’s, with barely more than a grunt of exertion. 

Patrick’s feet hurried past Thomas’s head to take hold of the other one. 

Janek did himself up and gave a sharp stamp to the crotch of the man by the wall. 

Thomas tried to call out to him as Janek’s boots ran past. 

But his voice was gone. 

Thuds, shouts and a hacking belch from one of the men who’d no doubt just tasted his own stomach followed. 

‘Stop!’ Thomas found his voice. ‘ _Please_ …’ 

The sounds stopped. 

‘Spose it’s your lucky day lads.’ He heard Janek say in a voice of molten silver. 

Looking up, the last thing Thomas saw was Janek’s taunt and erect back before his world went black.   


	32. Chapter 32

‘No, it’s fine…I don’t need another…’ Thomas gave up and offered a thin smile to the nervous hallboy. ‘Thank you.’ Thomas said as the boy added a fourth glass of water to his nightstand, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Thomas had yet to drink the previous three. 

Thomas’s room was starting to resemble the village shop. 

There were the collection of glasses, two plates piled with scones and sandwiches under muslin cloths on his dresser, two flower arrangements (one of which Thomas recognised from the Dowager’s raffle table), and six packets of sweets (four mint, two humbug) on his chest of drawers. 

A few hours earlier he’d made the mistake of mentioning to Mrs Hughes that he fancied a coffee. 

Mrs Hughes was the sole woman who’d been permitted to visit him on the men’s corridor. No doubt Carson thought her the only woman of the household sufficiently worldly and proper to be able to cope with the sight of Thomas in bed in his under-shirt. Thomas wasn’t wholly sure that Mrs Hughes ought to take that particular consideration as a compliment. It certainly indicated Carson viewed Mrs Hughes, as most men are inclined to view a women past a certain age, as something of a de-sexed matron. Definitely not flattering. 

Anyway, Thomas had expressed a wish for coffee. Minutes later he had an entire pot of it to himself. Six cups of coffee later (unlike the water, Thomas was loath to waste the luxury of rich roast) and he really _really_ needed the bathroom. 

There was a chamber pot under his bed, placed there by Alfred shortly after Thomas had been put to bed, but Thomas was loath to use it. Or more accurately, loath to the unsavoury prospect of watching one of his many well-wishers (Dear Lord, Mrs Hughes?) carrying it out of his room to empty. 

No, that wouldn’t do. 

He’d taken himself out into the corridor, clutching at his painful mid-section, and had been forced to endure a very awkward conversation with Molesley who’d happened to be passing at the time that no, he really didn’t require any…assistance. 

He wasn’t that badly banged up, after all. His cheek and lip had split, and were no doubt now a deep purple, and there was a throbbing bruise at his stomach, but nothing was broken. His eyes had taken a while to come back to focus when he’d woken up, but he knew his own name well enough thank you very much Dr Clarkson. 

Thomas was sat in bed, thumbing through one of the papers piled by the water glasses on the nightstand, when there was a tentative knock at the door. 

‘Come in.’ He said, taking a deep breath in anticipation of yet another glass of water.

Thomas was relieved to see his new visitor was not carrying a glass of water. However as he recognised the golden curls on the face peering round the door his breath caught in his throat.

 ‘What are you doing here?’ Said Thomas, pleased to see Jimmy despite the cloud of awkwardness that settled over the room as Jimmy lingered in the doorway. 

When Jimmy finally stepped into the room Thomas noticed that he had deliberately left the door ajar. 

That did a little something to dampen Thomas’s mood.


	33. Chapter 33

‘I’m glad to see you’re looking well.’ Thomas offered. It wasn’t meant to be a barb, but Thomas immediately regretted it when he saw Jimmy forcing himself to look at him and looking very uncomfortable that he couldn’t return the compliment. 

‘How are you Mr Barrow?’ Jimmy said, shifting about from foot to foot. 

‘I’m alright.’ Said Thomas. ‘And well looked after…’ He added somewhat wryly, indicating round the room. ‘…as you can see.’

Jimmy nodded, looking at the floor. 

The room fell silent. 

Jimmy turned away and Thomas thought for a moment that he meant to leave. 

_Satisfied yourself I’m alive then?_

But Jimmy didn’t leave. Instead he settled himself in a nearby chair. A chair that was a good distance from the bed, Thomas noted. 

‘I came to thank you.’ Said Jimmy, rubbing one hand slowly across the other. ‘You were brave, Mr Barrow. Very brave.’

Thomas discarded his paper and heaved himself up to rest his back against the bed-stead. He winced as he did so. Jimmy had the good grace to give a sympathetic shiver. 

‘I think stupid’s more the word you’re after.’ Said Thomas with a pained grin. 

Jimmy laughed. That was good, that was what Thomas had been hoping for. And the laugh went some way to chasing away the crackling strangeness in the room. 

Thomas’s back finally found the bed frame and relaxed. 

Jimmy looked back down at the floor, the rubbing of his palms intensifying for a moment before he looked back up to Thomas. 

‘Were you following me?’

That, plus the open door, plus the chair a good way from the bed, had Thomas’s previously bashful smile take on a rather fixed look. 

‘I was looking for you.’ Thomas conceded, smile falling away entirely.

_Because you were being a twat._

‘And when I saw you those blokes were following you.’ Thomas emphasised the point with a dull look in Jimmy’s direction.

That seemed to satisfy whatever Jimmy was intending to imply. 

_Oh, I know EXACTLY what you were thinking._

Thomas saw Jimmy’s shoulders relax.

 ‘Thank you, Mr Barrow.’ Said Jimmy quietly. 

Thomas sighed, shifted, and winced again. 

‘Good thing the others turned up when they did.’ Thomas said, trying to sound more jovial than he felt. 

Jimmy nodded. ‘I found them…’ He said. ‘…when I went to…’

_Run._

The word did uncomfortable things to Thomas’s stomach. 

‘…they were already coming up the slope by the folly.’ Jimmy paused a moment. ‘I’m sorry Mr Barrow. I shouldn’t have run off.’ 

‘Oh, you should have.’ Said Thomas. ‘Else what was I bloody doing it for?’

‘What…’ Jimmy’s words were careful, fearful even. ‘…what were you doing it for?’

_‘Cause I was hoping you’d come in here wearing nothing but a bow-tie and let me eat humbugs from your navel you fucking little…_

‘Jimmy…’ Thomas supposed this moment was as good as any. ‘…I need you to know that I’m sorry.’ No need to elaborate further on what _that_ meant. ‘And I need you to know…’ Thomas continued quickly as Jimmy shifted about uncomfortably in his seat. ‘…that I would never…’ 

_Except…I suppose I already did._

‘I wouldn’t have gone into your room that night if I hadn’t felt sure.’ 

Jimmy bristled at that, Thomas understood why entirely, and he could already anticipate Jimmy’s next question. 

‘Why were you so sure?’

Thomas knew what Jimmy feared. And much as he wanted to rail against Jimmy’s perception that being seen to be like him was the most grievous calamity in the world, he endeavoured to answer the question honestly. 

‘It was…’ He said slowly. ‘Miss O’Brien, for the most part. She was there, many times…’ Thomas shook his head bitterly. ‘…telling me. Never quite outright, she didn’t. I think she knew I’d never swallow it so completely otherwise. But she was…suggesting things. Things about what you did when I was around. Things about you wanting to spend time with me…’ Thomas knew what came next would be the last thing Jimmy wanted to hear, but he needed him to understand. ‘And you…you did spend time with me. And you didn’t pull away when I touched you.’ The last sentence was almost a whisper. 

Of all the things Thomas expected in response (anger…denial…) what he hadn’t expected was a chocking and bitter laugh and for Jimmy to lean his head forwards into his hands. 

‘O’Brien told me…’ Thomas’s stomach was clenching even before Jimmy got the rest of his words out. ‘…that I’d best keep in with you for my job.’

‘Oh…’

_Oh._

_That._

_BITCH._

‘Oh…’ Thomas said again, knowing with dark and perfect clarity what Jimmy's seemingly innocuous words meant. ‘Jimmy I would _never_ …’ And this time the never rang wholly true. ‘…ever be wanting something that only came ‘cause you were scared for your job. You or any bloke. That’s not…’

_Me._

_Or men like me._

But before Thomas could finish Jimmy’s bowed head shook with sobs. 

‘Shhh, Jimmy please…’

Jimmy gave another hacking sob. ‘What if I’d been awake? What if I hadn’t been so…so shocked? What if Alfred hadn’t been there? What if I’d…?’ The words were drowned out, muffled by Jimmy’s hands. 

‘Then…’ Thomas said. ‘…I’d have never forgiven myself.’

Truer words had never been spoken.

‘That…’ Jimmy’s face was red and swollen as he raised his head. 

_Bitch._

Thomas’s mind offered. 

‘How could she do that?’ 

Images of a slippery bathroom floor and a bloody little almost-person carried away in a metal bowl swam before Thomas’s eyes. 

_Oh, Jimmy you have NO idea._

‘I couldn’t possibly tell you.’ Said Thomas. 

Jimmy sniffed. ‘I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you.’ His usually deep voice sounded like the plea of a five year old. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘That’s that then.’ Said Thomas firmly, eager to dispense with the subject. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too.’

‘But…’ Jimmy sniffed again. ‘...she’s here. She’s here in this house and I…’

‘She’s seen today what people think of her.’ Said Thomas. ‘And me and Bates…’ He said grudgingly. ‘…we’ve got the whip-hand over her if it ever comes to that.’

‘That’ in this case meaning a situation so bad that Thomas’s continued livelihood paled in comparison.

Jimmy’s sobs abated. ‘What do you mean?’ He said, drawing the chair a little closer. 

_Oh no._

_Noooo, Jimmy._

‘I’ve got my secrets.’ Thomas said, the words coming out more theatrically than intended. ‘But I won’t be sharing them with you. Not while you’re off…’ Thomas continued as Jimmy began to sit upright in protest. ‘…pissing about getting drunk and getting yourself into troubles. You’re no friend of mine Jimmy…’ Thomas was surprised at himself for saying it outright, and that he actually believed it despite his enduring affection for Jimmy. ‘…and you won’t be getting my confidences until you’re less of a…’

_Child._

Thomas didn’t speak the word outright but Jimmy heard it all the same. 

‘If I’m a child what does that make you?’

‘A damn fool.’ Thomas replied without missing a beat. He softened as he continued. ‘And I am sorry Jimmy, for everything.’

Jimmy nodded. 

The two of them exhaled almost in unison; closure and release. 

‘But I would like it if we could be friends.’ Thomas offered, and he meant it. 

‘I think I’d like that.’ Said Jimmy. 

Jimmy smiled at him. But Thomas noticed the smile faded away somewhat as Jimmy spoke again. 

‘Seems like you’ve already got some good friends there in the builders…’

‘I suppose I have.’ Said Thomas, wondering if he’d be pushing their new friendship too far if he asked Jimmy to rummage about in his dresser to bring him a packet of fags. 

‘They’re very…’ Jimmy continued. 

_Manly?_

Thomas’s mind finished dryly. 

_And I’ll bet you’re wondering how ‘manly’ blokes like them could come to like a man like me?_

But Jimmy’s next words surprised him.

‘That man, the one with the pale eyes, Janek…What he did, it was…I mean, was it…?’

_…Normal?_

‘No, Jimmy.’ Said Thomas, feeling a chill running up his spine. ‘That wasn’t normal.’ He grimaced.

Tentatively guessing at the deeper meaning behind Jimmy’s question (and he would have marvelled at Jimmy’s deciding to ask _his_ advice on the subject if the horrors of the day hadn’t still been fresh in his mind) Thomas continued. ‘Don’t you be looking to him for what it means to be a real man.’

Jimmy considered Thomas’s words carefully. 

_I was right then._

‘He was…he scared me.’ Said Jimmy quietly.

‘Scares me too sometimes.’ Said Thomas with a nervous laugh. ‘His heart is in the right place though.’ Thomas paused, slightly disconcerted by this new Jimmy that was hanging on his every word. ‘It’s just…’ Thomas pondered, letting his mind mull over the subject. ‘…he considers he knows what’s right and what’s wrong. And when he decides…he’s very sure of himself…’

_Too sure._

‘…And he has his own sense of justice.’ Thomas concluded with a nervous laugh that belied how shaken he was at the memory of the look on Janek’s face earlier that day. 

Eager to move on, and to capitalise on Jimmy’s attentiveness for however long the moment remained, Thomas broached a subject that had been on his mind for a while. 

‘You and Ivy…’ He said carefully. 

A little of Jimmy’s previous defensiveness came back. ‘Yes?’

‘I just…’ Thomas continued. ‘…wanted to say that, you don’t need to be proving anything.’

Jimmy frowned. Thomas could practically hear the sound of bricks clinking into place as Jimmy mentally retreated back behind his walls.

‘If that’s where your heart goes, then have at it. But I hate to think…’ Thomas persisted. ‘…that you’re just trying to prove something. You don’t need to be proving anything.’ Thomas pressed quickly on. Jimmy was still listening to him, albeit warily. ‘In this life it’s unusual to be pursuing things like that...’ Thomas said with a resigned sigh. ‘...I’d bet you Carson hasn’t gotten his end away in the last thirty years. And Molesley…’ Thomas wriggled his eyebrows.

That drew a laugh, a blessed break in Jimmy’s darkening countenance.  

 ‘And no one’s questioning them as men, are they?’ Said Thomas. ‘It’s not impossible…’ He continued, thinking of the burgeoning Bates family. ‘…but most men in service never get a little cottage and a wife, and no one thinks the less of them. So if you’re going to keep doing what you’re doing…’ Thomas offered a weak smile that was more of a grimace. ‘…you’d best be sure it’s for the right reasons. That’s all I’m saying.’

Jimmy heard him. Good God, Jimmy actually seemed to hear him. And if the slackening in Jimmy’s shoulders was anything to go by, Thomas had just done more than one person a very good deed.


	34. Chapter 34

‘Uh…’

His skin was on fire. 

‘Yes…’

The space between his legs was full. 

‘Yes…yes…’

A rattling woke Thomas from his dreams. 

He blinked awake. 

He was in his room. It was dark. 

_Night._

His brain helpfully offered. 

And he was sweating and tenting the bed covers like a goddamned scout camp. 

Thomas swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. It came back damp. Thomas stared at the sweat glistening on his hand in the moonlight. His breathing was heavy, laboured. 

It must have been a _very_ good dream. 

Except…

The sound of thumping and moans hadn’t stopped. 

Thomas blinked again. He looked around the room in the dark and dug his nails into the palm of his hand. 

_No, definitely awake…_

But the sounds were still going. 

‘Uh…’ 

Thump. 

‘Uh…’

Sex. 

He was hearing _SEX_ sounds on the men’s corridor. 

_What the ever loving…?_

‘Christ!’ Thomas exclaimed as his bedroom door was suddenly wrenched open. 

Thomas realised the rattling that had woken him was footsteps at the same time he realised it was a dressing-gown clad Carson at his bedroom door. 

‘Mr Carson!’ 

He saw Carson survey the room in surprise, and turn to look away down the corridor as the sounds continued. 

‘Uh...’

Thump. 

‘My…my apologies, Mr Barrow.’ Said Carson curtly. 

Thomas stared at the back of the door as Carson closed it, clutching his sheets up to his chest. 

What in the world…?

‘Uh…uh… _UH_!’

_So...I'm not imagining it then?_

The sounds suddenly stopped as Thomas heard the sound of another door being flung open. 

‘Oh!...Oh my!’ That was definitely Carson. 

Thomas frowned in sleepy confusion as he heard the door being slammed as quickly as it had been opened. 

His confusion deepened as he heard Carson’s footsteps hurrying back past his own door and away down the corridor. 

There was another bang as Carson’s door was closed. 

Then all was silence. 

‘What…?’ Thomas whispered to himself. 

There were no further disturbances outside. 

It took some time for Thomas’s pulse to settle down. The appearance of Carson had garotted his erection, but the memory of the moans lingered long in his head as he tried to sleep.  

_What in the world...?_


	35. Chapter 35

Bed-rest had been Clarkson’s recommendation, but Thomas found himself unable to sit idly in bed on just the twinge of a few bruises. 

_And it’s probably just ‘cause the family don’t want to see my busted face lurking about the Abbey…_

Thomas did allow himself a lie-in. Which was frankly needed after the disturbances of the previous night. And he did luxuriate long enough to have breakfast in bed. There was another humungous pot of coffee and toast, eggs and bacon.

_FOUR slices. Mrs Patmore IS feeling generous._

But after twiddling his thumbs for half an hour after breakfast Thomas felt the need for a change of scenery. 

Eschewing his livery, as he was perfectly fine to avoid active duty for the time being, he got into his suit, did his hair, made the best job of shaving he could round his tender lips and headed downstairs. 

A walk, or at the very least a fag outside in the yard, was his goal. And, frankly, if he could manage the four flights of stairs, he didn’t see that a walk round the grounds would be too much of a stretch. 

The corridor was silent as he came down, save for a bustle in the kitchen to his left. But Thomas decided he’d best attempt to look in on Carson before he went out; lest one of his well-wishers find his bed inexplicably empty and fear the worst. 

Thomas gave a tentative knock to Carson’s closed door. According to Thomas’s watch Carson should be out and about upstairs at this time, but it was worth a try. 

To his surprise Carson answered. 

‘Enter.’ Came the brisk command. 

‘Mr Carson…’ Said Thomas with a nod as he came in. 

Carson looked at him in surprise. Thomas fancied he might have gone up a few more notches in Carson’s estimations by being back on his feet quite so soon. 

Thomas closed the door behind him. ‘…I thought I might take a turn about the grounds.’ He said. ‘I think I could use the fresh air…’

_A smoke._

‘…if you approve?’

Carson nodded a little too enthusiastically. 

Thomas peered at him, trying to look like he wasn’t inspecting him too closely, and realised Carson’s face and posture was laced with an unease that didn’t seem to relate to his presence. 

Or at least Thomas hoped it didn’t relate to him. 

‘I’m glad you are up and about actually, Barrow.’ Said Carson, looking more pale than usual. ‘I don’t know if you would feel quite fortified enough for a journey into the village, but I have been informed that Fred…’ The mundane name sounded so strange coming from Carson’s lips. ‘…is to be moved to a facility closer to his family in the Midlands. If you wanted to look in on him then today would be the day to do it.’

‘Right…’ Said Thomas, not quite seeing what it was about this particular piece of news that had Carson so rattled. ‘…Yes, I think I’ll do that. I’m sure I’ll manage it if I take it slow.’ 

Truth be told, he had been a little disappointed in himself at failing to visit the invalided man before. Not that he’d had much of a moment to breathe since the accident, what with the general business of the household as of late. 

He lingered, half hoping that an offer of a ride in one of the family’s cars might be forthcoming. 

It wasn’t. 

Carson seemed to have other things on his mind. 

‘Are you quite alright, Mr Carson?’ Said Thomas. It was a boldness he had never dared before. 

Carson rapped his knuckles on his desk, looking decidedly not ‘alright’. 

‘No I’m…’ He began, glancing to the closed door for a moment. ‘There was a situation last night…’ He said, his voice softening, speaking to Thomas as an equal, in confidence. Thomas was flattered, but his curiosity overrode any pleasure he might have taken. Thomas fought hard not to show his curiosity too strongly. 

‘Yes, Mr Carson?’

‘You will of course be aware that there was a disturbance in the men’s quarters last night.’

_Yes, sex sounds you thought I was making._

One part of Thomas’s mind offered darkly.

But his curiosity was stronger than the urge to protest his treatment. He mentally urged Carson to continue. 

‘I…investigated…’

_That you did._

‘…and I found…’ Carson paused dramatically, sounding like a man about to divulge news of something of catastrophic import. 

_Get to it, will you?_

‘…one of the men, one of the builders…’ Carson specified, even under the circumstances keen to ensure that the dignity of the _servants_ be preserved. ‘…in an act of self-abuse.’

Thomas blinked. It took a moment to put together Carson’s lingering shock and his choice of words to realise he was referring to ‘self-abuse’ in the good old Victorian sense of the phrase.

_Oh._

_My._

_…_

_…_

_Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, DON’T laugh._

‘You mean he was…?’ Thomas had to say something, anything, to distract himself from the desperate need to let loose great peals of mirth. In hindsight silence might have been the better option. 

‘He had himself _in hand_ , Mr Barrow.’ 

_Do._

_Not._

_Laugh._

The look of indignation and violation on Carson’s face as he spoke suggested that the situation had been somewhat more…extreme…than simply walking in on a bloke giving a surreptitious tug under the covers. 

Not to mention the sounds that had echoed all the way down the damn corridor.

‘I…um…surmise that…’ Thomas clenched his hands behind his back despite his painful mid-section in a desperate attempt to keep his shoulders from shaking. ‘… it must have been a fairly vigorous session.’ He said, as flatly as he was able. 

Carson’s cheeks puffed out as he nodded ruefully in response. No trace of amusement there. Not in the slightest. 

_Poor Carson._

Well that explained why Carson had retreated quite so abruptly the night before…and no maid getting turned out on her ear. Or no police milling about the place that morning. 

Thomas was aware there were all manner of methods for training a young lad out of that kind of thing. Thomas’s own father had favoured the belt. Mercifully he had always put Thomas’s ‘transgressions’ down to youthful exuberance, rather than having put together that Thomas’s nocturnal emissions tended to coincide with the appearance of the coal man’s boy. 

Other boys at school, especially those from families well-to-do enough for a governess, had told far more horrific tales involving poultices made from peppers and garlic. 

But for a grown man? 

It wasn’t like there was a governess Carson could call on to cane the bloke’s fingers (or other parts), was it?

Thomas had once wondered if there was a household policy on that sort of thing, not that he would ever have risked being caught out himself. But back in the day he had been well acquainted with the muffled sounds on the men’s corridor after dark (William; panting, quick and usually sobbing, for example). 

Apparently no such policy existed. 

It had never ‘come up’ before, so to speak. 

_Don’t. Fucking. Laugh._

‘I’m…sorry you had to deal with that, Mr Carson.’ Said Thomas. 

‘Well it…it must be dealt with, of course.’ Said Carson, now tapping his fingers rapidly on the desk. 

_Now this I’ve GOT to hear._

Carson’s nervous twitching suddenly stopped. 

Thomas felt a dead-weight settle in his stomach. 

_Oh, no…_

‘ _You_ have had great success in keeping the builders in line with the standards of this household…’ Carson began, suddenly looking much more cheerful. 

_No._

_Please…_

‘…once you are back to work perhaps you might have a word with the man regarding proper dignities of deportment.’

Thomas had known Carson long enough to recognise an order wrapped in a ‘suggestion’ when he heard one.

‘Which one was it?’ Said Thomas dolefully, too defeated to marvel at the fact that he and Carson were actually having a conversation about masturbation. About a bloke masturbating. 

And that Carson was gleefully handing him full approval to go to a man with the expressed purpose of discussing the management of his penis. 

‘The lighter-haired surly one. Janek I think the name is.’

_Oh. HELL._


	36. Chapter 36

Thomas could think of no better way to describe the weather that morning than as something akin to the Devil’s armpit.

It was hot, and the smells of the countryside (mostly of the rotten sort) hung nastily about in the air where usually they’d be swept away by the breeze.

His innards felt unsettled, and his muscles were tense, not unlike the night Downton gained a new gaping window. But it could have just been his bruises and the lingering shock to his muscles. He was after all pushing himself far beyond doctor’s orders to trudge the three miles into the village. 

As he crested the first hill he spied the familiar figures of Tosh and Patrick heading up towards him. 

‘Alright?’ Said Tosh. 

‘Should you be up?’ Said Patrick.

Thomas tried to walk with as straight back as he approached. ‘Mr Carson gave me the news about Fred.’ He said. ‘I’m on my way to look in on him.’

‘But…’ Said Tosh, moving as though to take hold of Thomas’s middle to hold him up. ‘…are you up to it, do you think?’

Thomas stepped back. ‘I’m quite alright, thank you. Just happy to be out my room to be honest.’

He stood there, swaying ever so slightly, dearly hoping they’d just let him continue on his way. 

‘Well I know Fred’d like to see you.’ Said Patrick. ‘Do you want us to…?’

_Walk me there?_

_No._

It’d be the smart thing to do, of course, to let the two of them turn back around and escort him into the village. But Thomas had a feeling they’d insist he give up on the journey once they saw how slow he walked, and how much it was paining him. 

‘I can see myself there, I promise.’ Thomas said with an attempt at a smile. 

‘Well you make sure you let Janek see you back after.’ Said Patrick, going to doff his cap at him. 

_Bollocks._

‘Janek’s there?’ 

‘Aye.’ Tosh chimed in. ‘They’re going to have to pry him away with a crow-bar before he leaves Fred, I can tell you. We’ve said our goodbyes but he wouldn’t come back with us…Maybe he’ll come back with you.’ Tosh added. 

Thomas didn’t care for the look on Tosh’s face. 

‘Well…Good day lads.’ Thomas said, smiling through another twinge as he continued on his way. ‘I’ll see you back later.’

He strode onwards, just until he was far enough down the hill to be out of sight of them, then collapsed on the nearest tree trunk to nurse his stomach. 

_This is a very stupid idea._

He was sweating like nobody’s business and deeply uncomfortable in the relentless sunlight. Not to mention how rattled his bones still seemed to be from his little jaunt up the folly at the fair. 

  _Very stupid._

He could turn back. Even now he was closer to the Abbey than to the village. But he was feeling very stubborn. Days to do his own thing were few and far between, and damned if he was going to miss the chance to wish Fred well. 

Neither Patrick or Tosh had seemed all that happy to him. And their saying their ‘goodbyes’ certainly didn’t seem to bode well for Fred, or at least not for his continued livelihood.

If the bloke had lost his living, Thomas wanted to offer at least something by way of kind words. 

There was a small part of him also, that wanted reassurance that the current situation was none of his doing. Needed to know that his sloppy medical ‘skills’ hadn’t put paid to whatever chance the lad had. 

But mostly he just wanted to offer some comfort. 

That thought pushed him onwards, and made him disregard his growing discomfort and dishevelment as he shambled along the road. 

Usually the road would be rattled by the trundling of the odd cart now and then, particularly as midday approached. But today the road was silent. All the farmers had decided to stay in. 

_They know a storm is coming._

Thomas chased the thought away with a brisk shake of his head. Because his nice little logical brain would taunt him that pursuing his goal in his current condition, combined with inclement weather, was indeed a _very_ piss poor idea.  

When the first few houses of the village finally came into view Thomas would have dropped to his knees and given thank s to the almighty if he’d been sufficiently sure of his ability to get back up again afterwards. 

Clarkson was at the desk talking to a nurse when he entered the hospital. 

‘Mr Barrow? You shouldn’t be up and about!’ 

‘I’m quite alright.’ Thomas said for the second time that day, equally unsure this time as he had been the first. ‘I understand it’s quite important I visit today.’

‘Yes…’ Said Clarkson ruefully. ‘…yes, I suppose it is. Mr Brews will be collected later this evening, I understand.’ 

Thomas nodded. He didn’t have the slightest idea who ‘Mr Brews’ was but he fancied he could take an educated guess. 

‘He has another visitor at present.’ Clarkson continued, smile suddenly looking very fixed. 

Even stood by the nurse’s station Thomas could hear raucous laughter echoing down the corridor. Both the nurse and Dr Clarkson tensed.

‘So I was told.’ Said Thomas, shooting Clarkson a sympathetic look. 

‘Straight down there, Mr Barrow.’ Clarkson indicated with his clipboard. 

Thomas nodded his thanks and went to go. 

‘You didn’t…’ Clarkson suddenly said, eyeing Thomas’s uncharacteristically plodding steps. ‘… _walk_ here did you, Mr Barrow?’

‘No, Dr Clarkson.’ Said Thomas smartly and continued on his way. 

Janek was in the middle of a loud story as Thomas entered the ward. 

‘…and _they_ said I should’ve…’

Thomas never did find out who ‘they’ were, or what they though Janek ‘should’ve’. 

The moment Thomas entered the room Fred’s dark-rimmed eyes turned to him in wonder. 

‘Is that…’ Fred looked up to Janek from the bed. Janek turned around to peer over his shoulder. ‘Is that you?’ Fred said, leaning his head to Thomas. 

Fred's cheeks were hollow, his skin sallow, and one leg was raised off the bed in a pulley, plastered to the thigh. Bandages peaked out from under the blanket, swarthed around his chest. 

‘That’s him.’ Said Janek, looking at Thomas warily. ‘Though he shouldn’t be…’

‘I had to come.’ Thomas said quickly, cutting Janek off. ‘I wanted to see how you were.’

Belatedly Thomas realised that he’d come empty handed, and cursed himself for not thinking to stop in at the grocers or market for some flowers or fruit. 

‘Come here!’ A weak hand rose off the bed covers. 

Thomas hurried forwards, fast as he could, to take the hand that didn’t look like it could stay suspended for long without help. 

‘Thank you…’ 

Thomas knelt by the bed, glad that Janek had automatically stepped back a few paces to give him space to do so. 

‘…I wanted so much to say thank you.’ Fred’s voice was painfully weak and garbled compared to the youthful brightness of a few weeks previous. 

Thomas could see that the state of Fred’s voice cut Janek just as deep as it cut him. 

‘I should be thanking you!’ Said Thomas, forcing joviality and suddenly wondering if Janek’s loud laughs earlier had been for the same cause. ‘Best your still alive or everyone’d be questioning my skills!’ 

Fred gave a laugh, thin lips stretching across dry gums. He shuddered and coughed as he did. 

‘Hey, hey…shush.’ Said Thomas gently. ‘I know I’m funny…’ He said, breezy as a spring morn. ‘…don’t need you to be indulging me.’

‘You saved me.’

Thomas closed his eyes for the briefest moment before forcing them open and smiling gently. 

_'Saved' might be too strong a word..._

‘Spose I did.’ Thomas said. 

‘He said…’ Fred raised his other hand to point with two unsteady fingers in Janek’s direction. ‘…that my blood was every which way before…’ He paused for a laboured breath. ‘…before you came.’

Thomas looked up at Janek, who looked like he wanted to be sick despite the expression of calculated serenity on his face. 

‘He was right…’ Said Thomas slowly, talking as he had talked to the little children at the fair. ‘…but the best thing about blood is you can make more of it. Don’t need to be crying over losing a little.’

Fred laughed again, this time the coughs were more violent and hacking and clearly the cause of much pain. But damned if Thomas didn’t want to make him laugh again. As many times as he could. 

He wondered if Fred knew about him stabbing him in the chest, and in the same moment decided that he absolutely wasn’t going to ask. 

‘I hear your family’s going to be lookin’ after you for a while.’ Said Thomas. 

Fred nodded, fingers still clasped round Thomas’s hand. 

From his vantage point, bent down on his knees, Thomas could see tubes running down the other side of the bed, draining away fluid that looked like it didn’t belong in a man’s body. 

‘I will like to see them.’ Said Fred dreamily. 

‘I’d like to see them and all.’ Janek suddenly piped up. ‘You should hear the stories this one tells about ‘em!’ He said, practically rattling the window panes with his laugh. 

From the weary looks of some of the other men resting on beds around the room, the stories had already been told ad nauseum. 

‘I’m glad you came…’ Said Fred, voice still sounding far away. His fingers tightened around Thomas’s hand. Thomas squeezed back. ‘…but I wouldn’t have minded seeing that girl from the kitchen neither.’ 

Beside them, Janek laughed again. 

Forced, but hearty. 

Fred gave a little chuckle too. 

 _Bless his boots for making a joke._ Thomas thought. 

He tried to laugh too. As he bent his head down to fake-wipe his eyes on his sleeve he saw Janek’s gaze trained on him intently, trying to tell him something. Trying to urge him on to something. 

‘She wanted to come, you know…’ Said Thomas, looking up at Fred, not sure if that was what Janek was trying to angle at, but certain he’d be in approval of this particular white lie under the circumstances. ‘…but Carson wouldn’t let her. Said it wouldn’t be right proper.’

Fred’s sunken eyes widened a little.

‘You’d best be sure to write her, once you get where  you’re going.’ Said Thomas firmly. 

Fred gave as much of a grin as he was able before sinking back into the pillow to gaze blissfully up to the ceiling. 

The moment Fred’s gaze was elsewhere Janek gave Thomas a little nod. Thomas wasn’t sure if it was a ‘thank you’ or a ‘well done’ but he fancied it might have been a little of both. 

‘Well I’d best leave you two to it.’ Said Thomas. He saw the bed-ridden men nearby pleading with their eyes for him to stay a little longer. 

_Must be a bit quieter in here with me around…_

‘Best let you two enjoy the rest of the afternoon.’ Thomas continued. He automatically pressed his lips against the back of Fred’s hand before he rose and felt Fred’s fingers give a final squeeze of thanks. 

Thomas was quite impressed with himself for managing to get back on his feet unaided.

But his intentions of making a quiet exit were soon dashed when Clarkson appeared in the doorway to inform them that he needed to examine ‘the patient’ before transport. 

‘If you and…’ Clarkson said to Thomas, eyeing Janek uneasily. ‘…your companion could please leave us.’

 _He’s been waiting for this._ Thomas thought to himself. 

 _Too scared to ask him to leave on his own._  

Not for the first time that day the words ‘Janek’ and ‘Why _always_ me?’ played in Thomas’s mind.

Thomas said nothing.

Janek stayed where he was, tall and with more than a hint of menace. He lingered just long enough for everyone in the room to feel _deeply_ uncomfortable. 

‘Be seeing you back here, soon as they get you fixed up at home. I know it.’ Janek finally said, leaning to press a kiss to Fred’s forehead. 

Fred gripped Janek’s hand for a moment, keeping him close a few seconds longer, before he withdrew. 

Janek made a point of stepping much closer to Clarkson than necessary as he made his way past him, following Thomas out of the ward.


	37. Chapter 37

‘I know he won’t be back.’ Said Janek, paying no mind to the nurse behind the desk as he lolled his backside against it. The nurse got up sharpish and vanished, clutching papers under her arm to give credence to the pretext of a sudden urgent need to do some filing. 

‘I know you’re no simpleton.’ Thomas offered quietly. 

_Despite occasional evidence to the contrary._

Janek pulled a pouch out of his pocket and went to roll a cigarette. Thomas watched him fumbling with trembling fingers for a moment before offering him one of his own. Janek took it. 

Janek hiked himself up on the desk to sit with his legs splayed, paying no mind to the pot of pencils that clattered to the floor as he did so. ‘His family are shits you know.’

Thomas lit his cigarette. ‘But will they look after him?’

Janek huffed before answering. ‘Aye, they’ll look after him.’

Janek looked towards the door to the ward. 

‘Just leave Clarkson to it.’ Said Thomas, leaning his own back against the wall opposite. ‘He knows what he’s doing.’ 

_Mostly._

Janek snorted bitterly. 

‘He does.’ Thomas insisted. 

Janek breathed smoke to the ceiling and closed his eyes. ‘I don’t like this.’

‘I’m not liking it either.’ Said Thomas honestly. ‘But it is what it is. And I’m sorry…’ He quickly continued as Janek’s head snapped back up abruptly to glare at him. ‘…for what happened.’

‘It wasn’t you.’ Said Janek with a shrug. 

‘I know.’ Thomas replied. ‘But I’m sorry all the same.’

Janek huffed again before settling down, leaning a hand behind him to rest against the top of the desk.

‘The others will be arriving day after tomorrow.’ He said, legs swinging. 

‘Others?’ Said Thomas. 

‘Blokes to build.’ Janek said, seeming to brighten a little as he smoked near half the remaining cigarette with his next pull. ‘From the yards in Salford, they’re coming. We’ve worked with most of them before.’

‘Well that’s good then, isn’t it?’ Said Thomas, starting to mentally plot ways he could avoid Janek accompanying him on the slow three-mile stumble back to Downton. ‘Means the works can move on a bit.’

‘Yes.’ Janek breathed out through smoky lips. ‘And some amusements besides.’

_Amusements?_

Janek got down from the desk and went to walk away. Thomas hunched forwards from the wall and went to grab Janek’s shoulder to turn him around. His hands connected with muscle, but Janek didn’t move an inch. 

Janek glanced down at Thomas’s hand and gave a smirk. Thomas withdrew it, cheeks a little hot. 

_Might as well try to bend a steel bar, Thommy boy..._

Janek raised his arms in a gesture of fake surrender and turned about to look at Thomas. 

Thomas tried his darndest not to allow himself to be rattled.

‘There’d better be no more amusements.’ Said Thomas, surprising himself with his vehemence. ‘Any more pig’s blood I have to deal with I’m going to be rubbing your face in it first.’

Janek glanced down at the hand which had failed to move him. 

 _And how will you do this?_ Thomas could practically _feel_ him thinking. 

But ‘Relax. I don’t mean like that.’ was what he said. 

If anything that gave Thomas even less cause to ‘relax’. 

‘Do I want to know?’ Said Thomas, spying the nurse peering round a nearby doorway and disappearing again just as quickly at seeing they were still out there. 

Janek shrugged. ‘I reckon you could guess.’

_Guess?_

_…Me?_

‘I really don’t think I could.’ Said Thomas. 

‘I’m talking about a bit of good old honest fu…’

_Not many decent words that begin with those two letters._

‘ _DON’T!_ ’ Thomas held up a hand between them. ‘None of that talk.’ He said quickly as Janek smirked. 

_Especially not here._

Janek glanced up and down the empty corridor and rolled his eyes at Thomas’s discomfort. 

‘I’m _careful_ …’ Said Janek, the usual Scouse drawl becoming thicker by the moment. ‘…and I’ve already laid me groundwork.’

Thomas crushed his cigarette out with the heel of his shoe. 

‘I have no interest in learning what that means.’ 

‘Don’t you?’ Said Janek as Thomas made a show of going to walk away. ‘Cause I think I could teach you a thing or two.’

Thomas turned back. ‘Oh you really couldn’t.’

‘Take your Mr Carson…’ Janek said. ‘…let’s just say he won’t be coming into my room again any time soon. No matter what he hears…’ Janek sealed the sentence with a smirk. 


	38. Chapter 38

 

The crack and rumble that vibrated through the very air around them was a highly accurate representation of what was currently going on in Thomas’s head.

But Thomas’s desperate need to warn Janek what an idiot he was (coupled with an equally desperate need to avoid visualising what Carson had walked in on) was chased away as the archway beside them was suddenly filled with relentless rain. 

It was the kind of rain that made everything beyond it look like a ruined oil painting in the distance. The kind of rain that shot mini-craters into the dirt as it landed, kicking up splashes of mud that’d reach a man’s knees. 

He and Janek walked over to the archway in silence and peered out.

The sky had gone behind a lumpy duvet of black cloud. And just as they looked out great fingers of white snaked across the sky and briefly lit it up in a burst of white light. A booming rumble followed immediately after. 

‘Well, shit.’ Said Thomas, not bothering to lower his voice. Whatever other problems the man beside him brought, it was certainly liberating to be able to swear out loud in his presence. Thomas glanced to his side. 

_Wait, where was he?_

Thomas glanced back and saw Janek had retreated a little way back down the corridor. 

Janek stepped forwards again when he noticed Thomas looking at him. 

‘Is there a bus?’ Janek said, eyeing the sheets of rain obscuring the village green. 

_Got money for a ticket have you?_

‘No.’ Said Thomas, shaking his head. ‘It goes as far as the crossroads then loops back.’

Another flash of light, another rumble. 

Janek was suddenly close to his side. 

‘Will they send a car?’

Thomas shook his head again. He had no doubt they would, to be honest, _if_ there was a way to phone through to the Abbey. But the road was already under a babbling sheet of water, rushing over the surface, splashing in the rain, filling the ditches by its side. He wasn’t sure he’d feel right asking anyone to drive out in this weather; unfortunate though the present situation was, it couldn’t exactly be called an emergency.

‘What do we do?’ Said Janek. 

_Really? An outdoor lad like yourself, you have to ask?_

‘We walk quickly.’ Said Thomas with a sigh. The soles of his shoes were already sopping in the water running into the entryway from the path. He mentally promised himself that he’d take a whole _week_ of bed-rest if he could get away with it after this. 

Chances were he and Janek would be laid up with a cold or worse anyway. 

‘We don’t walk in this.’

Thomas snorted. ‘We’ll dry out quick enough back at the Abbey.’ He said, already visualising the fireplace in the servant’s hall and an imaginary Mrs Patmore handing him a mug of hot milk. The air streaming in from the archway was cold on his face, and Thomas gave a pre-emptive shudder at just how miserable the walk would be to get there. 

_It’s too dangerous._

He tried to suppress the thought.

_The rain will sting. You will shiver. And you will slip in the mud. YOU can’t go fast._

_And he will shiver beside you. Because he won’t leave you._

‘Not the wet…’ Janek said, eyes turned heavenwards. 

‘What, all these fine houses and trees to scorch and you think a little lightning…’ That was a slight understatement, the sky looked like the flashing lens of a film projector. ‘…is going to find _you_? You know how unlikely it is to get struck, don’t you?’ 

_It DOES strike though, doesn’t it?_

Thomas’s fingers gripped the side of the archway a little tighter. 

‘It is the wrath of God.’ Said Janek quietly. Thomas picked up a slight change in the timbre of his voice, his accent even. ‘Man must cower before it.’

_Hide in a doorway? Yes, I’m sure the big man would be impressed._

But a little of Janek’s fear seeped into Thomas nonetheless. Though it could have just been the sight of the misery of the final few people scrambling for shelter in the village, shouting as the rain pounded their backs. 

 _No, not walking three miles in this._ He finally admitted to himself with a resigned sigh. 

_I need a drink._

The Inn was diagonally across the green. A couple of minutes stagger away, no more. 

‘I’m going to go sit in there.’ Thomas pointed out to it. ‘Hang about until it passes.’ 

 _And let Clarkson and the others deal with you_. 

But as he stepped out into the rain Janek followed close behind him, clutching at his arm. 

_Fuck’s sake._

Thomas was wet through in the time it took to look back and realise Janek had come with him. And the rain was stinging his cheeks just as much as he’d imagined it would. It was not the time to point out to Janek he hadn’t been invited.

‘Come on then.’ 

The two of them splashed through the water, grunting and shouting as the wind picked up and sent great sheets of rain to hide their way and batter their shoulders.

By the time they reached the door Thomas was too uncomfortable to look up and confirm that they had arrived in the right place. He wrenched the door open, hoping he wasn’t about to burst into someone’s living room.

No, it was the Inn alright, Thomas spied the familiar oak beams above the bar as Janek pushed past him to get inside. 

_After you then…_

Thomas followed him, mindful that they were leaving great squelching footsteps on the floorboards. But a quick glance below confirmed that about a dozen or so equally unfortunate travellers had done so before them.  

‘Well if it isn’t Mr Barrow!’ Mr Bryce’s hearty voice sounded from behind the bar. ‘The hero of the hour!’

The ‘hour’ was long past, in Thomas’s mind, and he’d never felt less of a hero than looking down at Fred’s gaunt face in the hospital. 

He shifted about uncomfortably, his clothes dripping onto the floor, wishing the sea of faces sat round the room hadn’t turned towards him with quite so much gusto. 

‘Come in! Come in!’ Bryce motioned the newcomers to the bar. ‘My…’ He said as Thomas approached. ‘…that’s some nasty business there.’ 

Thomas winced. He’d forgotten the state of his face. And he imagined the crusting cuts and purple bruises must look particularly severe at that moment, what with the cold of the rain turning his skin a pale bluey colour. 

‘And you there, lad…’ Bryce said, looking to Janek. 

Janek had bounded over to the bar with none of Thomas’s hesitation. 

‘…I hear you gave them what for!’

Janek shrugged. It was the same nonchalance that Patrick had shown to the maid during the builder’s first dinner at the Abbey. ‘Might have done.’ He said. Thomas could hear the grin behind Janek’s words. 

Of course Janek’s nonchalance only seemed to raise him higher in the bar man’s estimations. 

‘Well that was good service indeed…’ 

Thomas had a feeling Bryce wouldn’t be so chipper if he’d been there to see Janek pissing all over a man’s face. 

‘…and don’t you two fret.’ Bryce continued. ‘Those lads aren’t welcome here, or anywhere else, after that.’

Thomas nodded, attempting to summon up a look somewhere in the vicinity of gratitude.

Thomas went to open his mouth to order a drink. He could see Janek leaning over the bar to inspect the selection. 

 _How you going to be paying for that then?_ Thomas thought darkly. 

_‘Cause if you think I’M buying you a drink you’ve got another thing coming._

Janek pointed at the third tap from the left, smiled, and a moment later two large mugs brimming with sweet smelling hops appeared on the bar. 

‘On the house sirs, of course.’ Bryce said as he pushed them towards them. He spoke loudly enough so that the men at the nearby tables could hear, clearly eager to be seen to do his bit for community spirit. 

‘I’ll carry yours.’ Janek took up both mugs and smiled at Thomas. ‘Where do we sit?’

_Jammy bugger._

All the tables by the fire were full, though Thomas had no doubt the combination of Bryce’s ‘community spirit’ and Janek’s imposing figure could have cleared them away in a flash if he’d wanted. But the thing he wanted most at that moment was a seat, any seat, and a quiet drink. Emphasis on quiet.

Thomas led the way to one of the free tables on the other side of the bar, a good way away from the bustle round the fire and a good way away from the windows, lest Janek piss himself at the sight of another bolt across the sky. 


	39. Chapter 39

Janek seemed to take the hint that Thomas was in need of peace and quiet and sipped his beer in silence. 

Thomas was grateful. He was likewise grateful for the choice of beer, which was one he had never tried before but turned out to be surprisingly good. 

Ten minutes later his mug was half-empty and the silence was starting to grate on him. 

‘So, lightning?’ Said Thomas. ‘You’re not a fan?’

Janek shook his head without showing the slightest embarrassment. No other response was forthcoming.  

_So much for the art of conversation…_

‘They drill that into you in Sunday school?’ Thomas sipped his beer. 

‘I didn’t go to any school.’ 

_Should’ve guessed that, I suppose._

‘So…?’

‘I grew up on a farm. Open country lands. When the lightning or hails came it was bad for the animals and men in the fields.’ Janek shrugged and mirrored Thomas’s posture, one elbow resting on the table with beer mug poised. ‘We respect storms.’ 

‘Where was that then, your farm?’ Said Thomas, already feeling like the present chat was more effort than it was worth in his tired state. 

Janek sipped his beer, licked an errant drop off the rim of his mug and shrugged. ‘You wouldn’t know the place.’ He said. 

_Definitely too much effort._

Though Thomas’s mind also offered that it might be more of a ‘ _Don’t want to talk about it_ ’ than Janek simply being obstinate. 

Thomas glanced over to the water running down the window across the room. 

‘Don’t think they’ll move Fred in this.’ Thomas offered. ‘You might be able to visit him again tomorrow.’

That seemed to brighten Janek a bit. Thomas mentally kicked himself for not realising Janek may not be in the mood for small talk after their visit to the hospital. 

‘Aye.’ Said Janek, peering down at his beer. The mug was empty. 

With a sigh Thomas relented and motioned over to Bryce to bring two more. 

‘It’s nice how much you care about him. How much all of you care about each other.’ Said Thomas while Bryce pottered round in the background behind the bar. 

‘He is a brother to me.’ Said Janek simply. ‘All of them are. Years we’ve worked together.’

As the fresh mugs of beer appeared at the table something in Thomas’s memory gave a twinge at the word ‘brother’ but he couldn’t place it. 

‘Well it’s nice.’ Said Thomas with a weak smile, nodding to Bryce in thanks for the beer. 

‘Will you be wanting some dinner lads?’ Said Bryce, gathering up Janek’s empty mug and pointedly eyeing the dregs in Thomas’s.

Thomas drained the rest of his drink and tried to ignore Janek’s enthusiastic look at the mention of dinner. 

‘When did you last eat?’ Said Thomas, trying to sound nonchalant, already nigh on certain that he’d be paying out for a meal for the two of them regardless of the answer. 

‘Yesterday.’ Said Janek with a shrug. ‘But I don’t need…’

Thomas turned to Bryce. ‘We’ll have whatever’s on, thank you.’

‘Right away.’ Bryce nodded to him and left the table. 

Silence resumed. 

A simple routine of sip, glance, repeat instilled itself. 

Thomas finally took a much larger gulp of beer and steeled himself. 

‘Janek…’ He said, somewhat redundantly given Janek was the only person within earshot. ‘…that thing you were suggesting back at the hospital…’ Another gulp of beer. ‘…don’t do that.’

Janek’s face gave a little twitch of confusion. 

‘The thing…in the hospital corridor.’ 

Hell would have to freeze over before Thomas spelt it out any more clearly, so he dearly hoped Janek would take his meaning. 

‘Ah…’ Yes, merciful realisation. Janek leaned both his elbows on the table. ‘Why not?’

‘You’ll get caught.’ Thomas replied. No need to sugar coat.

Janek snorted at that. ‘Not by your Mr Carson.’

‘No, probably not.’ Thomas admitted, feeling his cheeks reddening a little and dearly hoping the utterly shameless man opposite wouldn’t notice. ‘I see your thinking, I do.’ Thomas took another quick drink, noting that he was going to have to ask Bryce for another when he returned with the food. ‘And…well done.’ There was enough of the tricky Thomas of a decade ago left to appreciate the finesse (though that was _definitely_ not the correct word for it) of Janek’s plan and…execution, of said plan. ‘But it doesn’t work like that.’

Janek was listening to him intently, part fascination part disbelief in the eyes staring through the too-long hair. 

‘What you were doing…’ The last bit of beer was gone and Thomas was near considering reaching for Janek’s mug to drain that too. ‘…that’s not allowed either. It won’t land you in much bother, I grant you, but Carson won’t be ignoring those sounds if he hears them again.’ 

‘He won’t come in.’ 

Janek’s certainty was as infuriating as it was intriguing. 

_WHAT did Carson walk in on?_

‘No, he won’t…’ Thomas chased away the images that threatened to form in his mind with a bit of seething anger from his mouth. ‘…but he’ll send someone else, I can promise you.’

_Probably me._

‘If it is you, what does it matter?’ 

Thomas blinked, wondering for a moment if he’d spoken his last thought aloud before realising that Janek had probably already assumed this eventuality in his plan. 

_You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?_

‘I’ll be having no part in supporting you bed someone.’ Thomas said flatly, and loudly. He glanced round, afraid he had spoken loudly enough to be overheard. But the nearest tables were still empty. And, Thomas mused, there was really no reason for any eavesdroppers to assume the ‘someone’ in question was anything other than a woman. ‘I’ll not support this.’ Thomas asserted, more quietly this time. ‘It’s too dangerous.’ He added, though technically that was only part of his irritation.

‘Come on…’ Janek lolled back in his chair. Thomas’s irritation deepened at the utter lack of shame or fear – at the look of amusement even – on Janek’s face. ‘…It’s been weeks. And I’m stuck another month here at least.’

_Weeks…WEEEKS???_

Thomas wasn’t usually given to speaking his mind. Particularly not on the subject of the personal. 

But his irritation spilt over and decided that on this occasion he absolutely must make an exception. 

‘ _WEEKS?_ ’ Thomas hissed at him, leaning forwards across the table. He snagged Janek’s mug and drink damn near all that was left in it before continuing. ‘Try _years_ , you…’

_Selfish, infuriating…_

‘Food lads!’ Bryce’s appearance was well timed. Otherwise Thomas may well have launched himself over the table.

Thomas gave a very shaky smile of thanks. 

Bryce spied the mugs, and Thomas’s expression, and quietly asserted that he’d be back with more beer shortly. 

Thomas took up his knife and fork and attacked a sausage with far more gusto than necessary, dearly hoping Janek had enough self-preservation instinct to stay silent. 

‘I said I would, didn’t I?’ Janek said, speaking quietly while pretending to occupy himself with his food.

_You what?_

‘What?’

‘Back in the gardens…’ Janek spoke easily. No one glancing in their direction could possibly discern the sensitive nature of the conversation. Unless, of course, they looked at Thomas. 

‘You…?’

_Wait…_

This time Thomas’s memory came up trumps. 

_‘I’d fuck you…’_

_Good CHRIST did he actually say that?_

‘I have no…’ Thomas speared a chunk of sausage with enough force to scrape a squeal off the plate and send gravy spilling onto the table. ‘… _NO_ interest in you like that.’

Janek’s casual bravado took a hit. The man looked genuinely surprised, and perhaps even a little hurt. 

_Victory for team Thomas..._

Thomas’s anger dissipated as he allowed himself a little smirk. 

_Bet there’s not many blokes who tell YOU that._

And Thomas made damn sure that Janek saw his amusement at the thought. 

‘Here we are sirs…’ Two more beers appeared on the table. Bryce loaded up his tray with the empties and gave a deep sigh as he looked to the window. ‘Doesn’t look like this is going away any time soon.’

Thomas suppressed another smirk. He was fully immersed in inner bitch territory at that moment, and his inner bitch told him that Bryce was taking more money at the bar tonight than he probably had all week. 

Inner bitch had to get back in her box however, as Thomas followed Bryce’s eye-line over to the window and he was reminded of the unfortunate situation that had landed him and Janek in the Inn in the first place. 

He _slightly_ regretted having needled Janek to the point of not speaking to him as he spoke the next question. 

‘Got any rooms going here?’ Said Thomas. ‘I’ll pay, of course.’ He added grudgingly. 

‘We’re near full to the rafters…’ Bryce began. 

_And I’m sure you’ll jack the price up accordingly._

‘…but I’m sure I can fix you two a room.’

_‘A’ room._

_Singular._

‘Any chance of two rooms?’ Thomas ventured, ready to offer Bryce the full contents of his wallet and promise some more besides for the privilege. Janek stared darkly down into his mashed potatos. 

Bryce made a pained hissing sound. ‘No can do. I’ll have to be convincing some of the Drover lot to share just to get you one.’

_Perfect._

_Just perfect._

Thomas eyed the sheets of water running down the windows, willing the storm onwards and away. 

The storm responded by killing the electricity. 

‘I’m going to be needing another of these…’ Thomas sloshed the beer in his mug amid the sounds of the other patrons squealing at the sudden darkness. 


	40. Chapter 40

The moment the door closed behind them, Thomas’s mind betrayed him. 

Just a room. A little room. With one bed against the wall and a made-up mattress beside it on the floor. One window in the wall. And a door shut tight behind the two of them, closing off the outside world. 

_It would be so easy…_

_No._

_No, bloody, no._

_A filthy, arrogant…_

_[Caring, confident…]_

_…annoying tradesman…_

_[…hardworking, muscular…]_

Thomas dearly regretted his fifth _[sixth?]_ beer of the evening. 

‘Bugger off for a bit, will you?’ He said to the man standing awkwardly beside him. ‘Give me a minute to get myself into bed.’

‘Could use a shit anyway.’ Said Janek, doing his marvellous trick of passing by just a little too close for comfort as he left the room. 

Thomas let out a sigh of relief, half tempted to turn the lock on the door to keep the room to himself for the night. 

_Let HIM sleep in the damn corridor._

Thomas stripped off everything save his long-johns, draping clothes over the chairs by the door as he went in an effort to dry them for the morning. He made it only a couple of steps to the bed (and of course, he was having the bed – he was wounded, wasn’t he? And paying.) before grudgingly realising his long-johns were still just as sopping as the rest of his clothes. 

In hindsight he really should have insisted on a fire-side seat when they’d arrived. 

His underwear arranged over the chair, and an uncomfortable chill immediately setting in down his bare thighs, Thomas shuffled quickly across the room and was under the covers in an instant. 

He pulled the covers up to his chin and burrowed his head as far into the pillows as he could get it. 

He was freezing. And he’d never wanted a wank more than at that particular moment. 

The situation was fucking _torturous_. 

He wasn’t interested. He wasn’t. 

_But…the room…_

Yes, a private room. A lock. And a no doubt soon to be equally naked man sleeping less than two feet away on the floor.

_[A man you deliberately pissed off, remember that?]_

‘God…’ Thomas whispered to himself, voice muffled by the covers. 

The universe hated him. That much he had suspected for a while. But here was further proof of it in the most infuriatingly cruel way possible. 

There were no feelings there. No feelings for a grotty, coarse _builder_ for Christ’s sake. That he would assert until his face was even bluer than it currently was. 

_But it would be so easy…_

_[And he does care about you…]_

Thomas blinked. Where had _that_ thought come from?

_[He cares you saved his ‘brother’, he cared enough to save you.]_

_[He cares DEEPLY about the people who deserve it.]_

_[And you’re one of them, Thommy boy.]_

_[He’s fierce and kind.]_

_[And he’d fuck you.]_

The last thought had Thomas shaking his head against the pillow. 

_No._

He was drunk. Oh boy was he drunk. And right at that moment he was a kid with free reign of a candy shop (read; night alone in a room with an interested party). And his Judas of a mind was offering up _anything_ it could by way of justification to distract him from the simple fact that he wasn’t actually interested. 

But by God did he need a wank.

_And you can have one, quietly, soon as you’re back in the Abbey._

The door opened and closed. 

Thomas kept his face concealed in the pillows and sheets, offering nothing by way of greeting. 

He smelled soap as Janek passed him.

_[No cake on those fingers now…]_

Janek stripped quickly. Not making a show of it, but displaying no self-consciousness either as per usual. 

Thomas got the sideways view of the proceedings. 

_[Oh that’s nice. That’s nice, isn’t it?]_

_Shut up._

_[You could get your hands right around that…]_

_[…get your legs right around…]_

_…SHUT UP!!!_

Thomas very nearly chastised himself aloud. 

With the sigh of a very weary man, Janek dropped down heavily onto the mattress. Creaking sounds radiated up to where Thomas was laying. 

There was a rustle as Janek pulled his covers up. Then there was silence. 


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fitting that this chapter coincided with Halloween perhaps... Happy Halloween!

It could have been three minutes, it could have been three hours. Either way, Thomas was still awake, still frustrated, and still deeply distracted by the space between his legs. 

His sleeping companion was silent. Thomas couldn’t even hear his breathing. 

_Maybe he’s popped his clogs…_

Though more likely that he was just breathing quietly. 

_Wait, it IS quiet…_

Thomas sat up in bed. 

He could see sky through the window. The cascading rivulets of water had gone, leaving behind only a few droplets glistening at the corners of the frame. Otherwise the glass was blemish free, and if the strength of the moonlight streaming in was anything to go by it had turned into a crystal clear night. 

The storm had moved on.

_And you couldn’t have buggered off three hours ago…?_

The bed creaked under him as he stood up, careful not to accidentally kick the mattress or man on the floor beside it. 

Thomas pattered across the room with bare feet, and bare everything else for that matter, to peer out the window and down into the street. 

The world was quiet, moonlit, and seemingly asleep enveloped in the deep velvet blanket of the sky. 

Thomas’s breath fogged the glass of the window. It was beautiful outside. As serene a night as ever there was. 

There was a rustling from the floor behind him. 

_Oh…_

‘Sorry, did I wake you?’ Said Thomas, muscles suddenly tense as he endeavoured to keep himself stock still to avoid giving Janek any more of a view than he already had. 

_More than one full moon out tonight…_

‘Yes.’ Came the slightly dour response. ‘But I will forgive you…’

Thomas had a feeling a lot rested on his reaction at that particular moment. 

‘You will, will you?’ Thomas said, with just a hint of humour. 

There was a pause. Good. 

‘I will if you stay where you are.’

Thomas continued to stare out the window, but the side of his mouth concealed from Janek gave a slight smile. He spied movement in his peripheral vision. 

‘Only if your hands don’t go any further south.’ Thomas said, now barely able to stop the smile from stretching across his whole mouth. 

The movement stopped and a small chuckle from Janek sounded in the dark. 

Thomas stayed where he was. The light of the window playing over his skin. He couldn’t help but be pleased the sight of his backside (pasty though he considered it himself these days) had inspired the aforementioned interest. 

Perhaps he _had_ rather been hoping that Janek wasn’t asleep. _Perhaps_ the thought had crossed his mind before he’d gotten himself up out of bed and walked over to the window without dragging his sheet with him.

Perhaps he was still just a wee bit tipsy, and more than a bit needful. 

Perhaps he should get his pasty arse back to bed. 

‘I’m cold.’ Thomas said. 

He had one arm up holding the window frame, his front turned to the wall. He looked over his shoulder to Janek. 

‘I’m warm.’ Came the response. It was a simple statement of fact, but laced with purpose for anyone who might care to notice it. 

There was a smile on Janek’s face too. Gentle and tentative. Janek said no more, but he continued to smile just a little. 

_You know don’t you…you know why I got out of bed…_

Just the same way that Thomas knew Janek wouldn’t say a word if he got himself right back into bed.

_You KNOW I’m thinking about it…_

Janek continued to say and do nothing. 

‘Warm, are you?’ Said Thomas. 

‘Always.’ Said Janek. 

_I should go back to bed._

‘I should go back to bed.’ Thomas’s voice echoed quietly, but with a very different tone. 

The smile faltered but didn’t disappear completely. Janek’s eyes were still bright. ‘You should.’

‘I mean…’ Thomas took a few steps back from the window, still mostly with his back to Janek, his hands coming forwards to loosely cover himself. ‘…it is cold tonight.’

‘It is.’ Said Janek. 

‘And…’ Thomas had to work hard to turn himself towards Janek. He moved in an awkward diagonal line across the small floor-space. ‘…I do have my bedcovers there.’

‘That you do. Many covers.’

‘It’d be foolish really…’ Thomas’s modesty wouldn’t permit him to stay standing with Janek’s piercing eyes looking up at him at quite such close range. He crouched down in the space between the bed and the mattress. His bruised stomach gave a twinge but Thomas’s thoughts were otherwise occupied. ‘…to be out of bed on a night like this.’

Janek nodded, all seriousness. He raised a hand to Thomas’s shoulder. His palm felt like the relief of the side of a warm mug after a frigid winter walk.  

‘Very foolish.’ Janek said, still nodding. 

‘But I…’ Thomas’s voice caught as Janek’s other hand found his knee and slid up the length of his thigh, leaving a trail of electric heat in its wake. ‘…I fear I’m too tired to make it up to my bed.’

Janek leaned in, pulling Thomas towards him with the firm hand on his shoulder to whisper in his ear. ‘Then you’d best share mine.’ 

Any question Thomas might have had about a man’s ability to blow his top from words alone was dispelled by that simple sentence that somehow managed to be both purr and growl at the same time. 

He was very nearly ‘over’ in that moment. 

The warmth of Janek’s chest and the scent of his neck almost did the rest. 

_God I’m like a goddamned school boy…_

He went to lay down and there was a quick rustling and shuffling as Janek got the covers up over them that mercifully distracted Thomas from a highly premature nirvana. 

But then there were hands back on him, and heat, and no clothes to remove, and he was right back there again. 

‘Careful there…careful there…’ Thomas managed to breathe out. He went to touch Janek’s shoulder to still him, but the firmness there under his fingertips only added to the problem. 

_Don’t touch me or I’ll just…_

But he didn’t. Janek’s hand went between his legs and grasped him firmly, just the right side of too much, and gave precisely three lingering tugs. Each one letting the tender flesh rise and slide just so. 

‘Oh…’ 

‘Mmmmmm…’

Thomas was on his side. 

_How did THAT happen?_

Janek still had him in hand. 

_In hand…Oh my!_

And Janek’s other hand, or fingers more precisely, were sliding down Thomas’s back. 

Thomas could feel the tip of Janek’s cock resting against one of his cheeks as the fingers moved lower. 

A thumb played over the tip of Thomas’s straining erection.

_Seriously, I’m going to…_

But Janek moved to take firm hold of the base of Thomas’s cock and stopped him. Sparing an awkward conversation, if not Thomas’s pride.  

_Oh you bastard._

And

_You're good…_

Played out in Thomas’s mind. 

He needed to regain some dignity.

‘Why do you assume…’ Thomas panted out, reaching to grasp the wrist ready to disappear between his legs from behind, impressed at himself for managing to speak at all. ‘…that it’s going to be like that?’

‘If you want the best time…’ There was that purring growl again, and damned if the hand Thomas had holding Janek’s wrist wasn’t suddenly urging him on lower. 

Thomas took a moment to think, because frankly if he didn’t relax he was going to do himself a mischief, that he was very much in favour of this particular order of affairs. 

Sod the hours of making the eyes, the ten minutes of kissing and groping, the two minutes of stripping, another ten minutes of groping and the half-a-fucking-hour of a suck job that was usually required to get to this point. 

Sod all the balls that had slapped against his chin while he graciously sucked off their owners by way of pre-emptive reward for the privilege of having their cocks where he really wanted them.

No, this was SO much better.  

Janek’s fingers did their work quickly, and with a vigour and strength that had Thomas’s cock straining against the hand Janek still had around it. 

‘Uh…’ Thomas’s hips moved between the rock and the very hard place and though the sheets slipped off he was most definitely not cold. 

‘Here…’ Janek breathed in his ear. 

Thomas canted his hips back. His cheeks were pushed apart by a deliciously thick intrusion encased in a fist. It’s tip was wet, Thomas could feel the moisture at his rim. Then it was moving in. Onwards and inwards. 

Thomas’s skin bowed inwards with it before a whispered ‘Here...now’ had him opening right up. 

‘Ah!’ 

The hand at Thomas’s cock went away to grip at his hips. It wasn’t needed for the moment, and its owner knew it. 

_You know too much…_

Discomfort, unfamiliar through a long absence, had stolen the impending release away. 

But almost immediately Thomas’s body was responding to the strain within, and to the heat pressed against his back, and to the strong hand at his hips. 

_Oh my…_

_OH!_

There was that strength, right there. There it was. And it was in him. All of it and…

_Oh…_

_‘…the best time…’_

_Oh, the VERY best…_

Janek had both the strength to hold him well in place and the stamina to make use of that ability. And Thomas was in his grip, mouth open, eyes closed, mind _exploding_. 

But even in the midst of explosion Thomas was nagged by the duty of reciprocity. 

He had barely had the chance to put his hands on the man, much less his mouth. 

Not that Janek seemed to feel in any way hard-done by. 

Thomas had never had a pounding delivered with anywhere near Janek’s level of enthusiasm.

_Still…_

A kiss. A kiss. He could do that much at least. 

Janek’s face was buried in his hair line at the back of his neck and it would be a small matter just to turn and… 

He managed just the barest brush against the corner of Janek’s lips before his head jerked back. 

_What…?_

Thomas tried again. 

Janek grunted and turned his head. 

_It’s the cuts, the cuts and the bruises. He doesn’t want to hurt…_

_[Not worrying about your stomach though, is he?]_

No, Janek wasn’t worrying about his stomach. Not that it mattered since Thomas couldn’t tell the twinging of his bruises from the clenching of nearing release by that point. 

Thomas craned his neck round as far as he could.

The movement in and out of his backside took on a far slower pace. 

‘What are you doing?’ 

Thomas fought against the overriding distraction of being filled to try to find Janek’s mouth again. 

But Janek jerked back, the movement of his hips stopping entirely mid pull. 

‘A kiss for you.’ Said Thomas, his chest rising and falling uncomfortably as he began to come down from Janek’s ministrations. 

He leaned. 

Janek’s head stayed where it was. 

‘A kiss.’ Thomas said again. He reached his uppermost hand back to touch Janek’s jaw. He felt Janek’s fingers tighten at his hip as he did so. 

‘It…’ Thomas said. ‘…it usually goes with this sort of thing.’ He finished awkwardly.

Janek’s brow creased. He made no move to bring his lips to Thomas’s, which remained parted in invitation.

Thomas closed his mouth. 

‘Oh…’ Thomas said, because he really couldn’t think of anything else to say.

The man might have been still in him, but for all the connection Thomas felt in that moment he might as well have been on the moon.

And Thomas felt cold again, right down to his bones. 

They lay like that a moment, Thomas looking back over his shoulder to Janek. 

Thomas wasn’t sure what he was looking at precisely, but for him the moment was definitely over. 

Janek seemed to realise this too. His fingers slackened against Thomas’s hip. 

‘Would you…get out of me, would you?’ Thomas said quietly. 

Janek did, and the resulting feeling of emptiness was a drop in the ocean compared to the overwhelming oppressiveness and silence that had settled over the room. 

‘Take the bed.’ Said Thomas. Not because he was feeling magnanimous, but because there was no way he was going to be able to move. 

‘But it’s yours.’ Said Janek’s voice behind him. 

‘Then go to the corridor, just…’ 

_Just get away from me._

Janek didn’t go to the corridor, but he put up no further protest about taking the bed.  

Thomas stayed where he was, one hand pressed firmly over his mouth. 

But he had to move the hand eventually and when he did a painfully keening sound emerged along with a rush of breath. Thomas clapped his hand over his mouth again. He turned to bury his head in the pillow. 

Janek made no comment. 

Stretched out on the bed above he was silent as a corpse. 


	42. Chapter 42

It took a moment for Thomas to remember why he was on the floor. Another moment to register why he felt so dirty, and another to realise he was very very hungover. 

‘Fuck…’ Thomas murmured as he sat up. 

He was alone in the room. Small mercies, he mused. 

_But…Oh God…_

His hands went to his face and didn’t move again for some time. 

He dressed as best he could given his clothes were still damp, and didn’t hang right on him, and went downstairs. 

He had his wallet in hand, ready to throw some money in Bryce’s direction and stagger back to Downton to his bed (and the bathtub) as quick as his jelly-legs would carry him. 

‘There you are, Mr Barrow.’ It was the chauffeur. He was standing by the bar talking to Bryce. ‘Been looking for you in the village. I’m to take you back.’

Thomas smiled weakly. Any happiness at the prospect of a lift was drowned out by a deep wish to be alone, but he could hardly refuse. 

‘Here…’ Thomas pushed money to Bryce. 

‘Thank you, Mr Barrow. Pleasure to have you with us. Did you sleep well?’ Bryce said as he inconspicuously counted the money. 

‘Like the dead.’ Said Thomas flatly. 

‘He’s back at the hospital, by the way…’ Said Bryce to Thomas and the chauffeur. ‘…if you’ll be wanting to collect him on your way back.’

The chauffeur looked to Thomas in confusion. 

_Bollocks._

Thomas hadn’t considered that Janek’s absence might have gone unnoticed back at the Abbey, or at least not been reported by Patrick and Tosh. And there went his chances of escaping back to Downton without him. 

‘One of the builders.’ Thomas explained. ‘He’s here to look in on the lad in the hospital.’

‘Right, let’s go get him.’ The chauffeur replied brightly. 

As they made their way over to the hospital, Thomas more shambling than walking at the discomfort in his stomach and elsewhere, Thomas took a moment to give thanks that no one at the Abbey (chauffeur included) was likely to put together that the two of them had spent the night together. 

_Oh God…_

Thomas’s head nearly went into his hands again. 

Janek was standing outside the hospital smoking, having already been turned out by whoever was in attendance on Fred that morning. He took up the offer of a lift with a small nod and said nothing more. 

_Please sit up front…_

As Janek went to climb into the back with him Thomas belatedly considered that perhaps _he_ should have gotten into the front to avoid the present situation; stuck on the back seat in silence with Janek. 

Thomas leaned his head against the window, only half-registering the chauffeur’s chatter about the storm, how bad it was, and how worried everyone had been about him. 

Thomas gave a noncommittal grunt now and then. 

Janek said nothing. 

As he stared out the window, Thomas spied a tree that had been blackened and split open by the side of the road. 

‘Good thing you didn’t walk out in that lightning...’ Said the chauffeur, steering round the large branch that had fallen across part of the road. Wheel ruts in the mud showed he wasn’t the only one who’d had to steer round it that morning. 

Thomas mused that Janek must be in equally bad sorts as himself, otherwise Janek would have smugly piped up something about him being right about insisting they stay in the village and wait out the storm. 

‘Wait!’ Janek called out, making Thomas jump. ‘Stop here.’ 

In the mirror the chauffeur looked confused, but he consented to pull the car in at the side of the road. 

Thomas heard a click as Janek opened the car door and got out. 

Both Thomas and the chauffeur sat with eyes front, assuming Janek meant to answer a call of nature. 

_Couldn’t of held it till we got back to the Abbey?_

But then Janek circled round the car and walked up to the lightning-split tree. 

Thomas and the chauffeur craned their necks back to stare.

‘Is he…?’ The chauffeur began to say. ‘Oh!’

Yes, Janek was. He was bending down to take hold of the branch. It was thick as a man’s thigh, but Janek heaved it up to the height of his stomach. With a shout that shook their nerves to the core, Janek threw the branch off the road and into the ditch. 

Thomas and the chauffeur sat in silence as Janek returned to the car. 

‘That was…’ The chauffeur said as Janek got back in. ‘…my goodness.’

‘No point leavin’ it there in people’s way.’ Janek muttered and settled back in his seat. 

The rest of the journey passed without incident. 

Thomas stopped off just long enough to tell someone to tell Carson that he’d be in his room.

_For all eternity._

Then Thomas climbed the treacherous stairs, took himself straight to the bathroom, turned the knob on the bath and sunk to the floor as it started to fill. 


	43. Chapter 43

Eternity was a long time, and in the end Thomas only lasted another day in bed.

As he entered the servant’s hall, uniform pristine, he paused at the sight of a lot of unfamiliar faces standing about the table. 

_Damn._

He’d forgotten about the imminent arrival of the new building crew. And he was in no mood for it. He wondered if he could sneak back upstairs without anyone noticing, but he could already hear Carson’s footsteps clapping down the corridor behind him. 

‘Well done, Mr Barrow.’ Said Carson, giving a nod to his livery. ‘I think I might be in need of you today.’ He added quietly, so the nearby men wouldn’t hear. 

The usual routine of sitting about the table to wait for Carson had gone right out the window that morning. People continued to manoeuvre around the table making introductions, offering greetings even after he’d arrived.  

Thomas ignored the crush, and the new faces, and took his seat. Opposite, Miss O’Brien was already in hers but her attention was being demanded by a tow-haired man with a sharp jaw and the beginnings of a beard at his chin behind her. 

‘Don’t you want to tell me your name?’ The man asked over her shoulder, clearly not for the first time. 

‘That’s Miss O’Brien.’ Thomas offered dully for her. 

He didn’t do it to annoy O’Brien, he didn’t have the energy for that. He did it more to move the annoying display along so he could get back to pining for coffee. 

‘That is a _lovely_ name.’ The man said, leaning even closer. The man’s accent was unfamiliar to Thomas, and even though Thomas was nackered, disinterested and in a foul mood his brain still ran a quick scan against ‘known’ dialects in his memory to try to place it. 

There was a rustling at the door to the servant’s hall. 

Though Thomas couldn’t see who had arrived the sudden shouts of ‘Janek, me old lad!’ from the new builders led him to make a pretty good guess.

_WHERE is that damned coffee?_

A moment later Janek came into view, moving smoothly through the group. He spied Thomas and immediately looked away. 

Beside Janek, the unfamiliar builder was still waxing lyrical about O’Brien’s ‘lovely’ name.

Janek looked sideways in alarm.

‘Eh!’ Janek tapped the man on the shoulder to get his attention. ‘ _Nie_.’ Janek said when the man turned to him. Janek was shaking his head and making unsubtle chopping motions across his own throat. ‘ _Nie rób. Zły pomysł_.’ 

Thomas stared at Janek in confusion, wondering if he was in greater need of coffee than he’d thought. He fancied he took Janek’s meaning (the chopping motions and head shake were pretty clear – though blessedly conducted out of view of O’Brien), but the words...

‘Can I help you with something there?’ Janek demanded across the table. And just like that the Scouser was back. 

‘No.’ Thomas said, quickly looking down at the table. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation is my attempt at 'No. Don't. Bad idea!'


	44. Chapter 44

It was night, at last. That blessed time when the family were all in bed and things were winding down in the servant’s hall. And Thomas had been needing that dark sky like he’d never needed anything before. 

His nerves were in absolute shreds. Again. 

The entire morning had been spent holding rows over the builders’ accommodations. 

The new arrivals didn’t take kindly to being told which rooms to go in, and several had thought to set themselves up in the rooms currently occupied by staff. They had bed-rolls with them, so in theory could have slept anywhere, but both Thomas and Carson were firm in their resolve that between builders and genteel staff ‘never the twain shall meet’ so to speak. 

They managed to house a couple in with Coyne (Kris, the one who had taken a fancy to O’Brien and another very tall, very imposing pillar of surliness that went by Ian). They’d shoe-horned in another man, a red-head whose name Thomas hadn’t caught, in with Tosh and Patrick. 

Janek, for his part, lingered by the door of his borrowed room, lazily propping up the door frame. It became clear early on that Janek had no intention of stepping back to allow anyone else into his room. 

 _Wonder why…_ Thomas thought darkly. 

The combined force of Carson, Thomas and the remaining homeless builders probably could have prevailed upon Janek to share. But Carson delegated the talk to Thomas, Thomas was in no mood to have it, and the other builders seemed too afraid to challenge him on it. 

So it was, cap metaphorically in hand, that Carson went to Lord Grantham and begged for the use of one of the cottages. 

After a nail biting ‘discussion’ that Thomas listened in on by the door, Lord Grantham relented. 

 _And that was only the morning!_ Thomas thought to himself as he let himself out into the yard and lit a cigarette. _Only the goddamn morning!_

He sighed into the night’s sky, letting the cool air ease a little of his pent up frustration. 

Later he’d been forced to have the shirt (as in ‘keep them on’) discussion again with the builders. And the swearing one. And the don’t-be-splashing-about-naked-in-the-water-pump one. 

There was also a new don’t-piss-up-the-side-of-the-house one that Thomas had been called upon to deliver sometime in the late afternoon by a _very_ angry Lord Grantham (who had been informed by a chuckling Lady Mary).

Trouble was that Coyne didn’t seem to have a handle on the new lads in the same way he did with the original group. And several times Thomas had to step in to ‘have a word’ directly with men almost twice his size and with none of his grasp of vocabulary. 

_What an absolute shit of a day!_

The first cigarette was gone in four determined draws. 

Thomas plonked himself down on the bench and lit another. 

He willed his mind to go quiet; to give him a moment, just a moment of peace before the horrible realisation that he’d have to do it all again tomorrow sunk in. 

He managed it, but solo bliss was not to be found in that moment. 

_Oh no…_

From the dark doorway leading into the garage there were noises. 

At the current distance they were soft enough to go unnoticed when one had other things on their mind, but now Thomas was focusing on them he couldn’t drown them out and go back to his own personal oblivion. 

There was no reason for anyone to be in the garage. No reason at all. Not at this time of night.

Thomas cursed quietly. At times like this he deeply resented his position as Under Butler and de facto keeper of order in the household next to Carson and Hughes. 

He could just head back into the house. Pretend like he knew nothing. But then if someone else were to come out and find shenanigans afoot, they would remember that _he’d_ stepped out for a smoke only a few minutes earlier and question why he hadn’t dealt with it. 

_I hate this…_

Thomas crushed his cigarette out on the table, ignoring the burn mark it left. 

As he walked over Thomas mentally pleaded for it to be Lord Grantham inexplicably deciding he needed to check over the motors himself, alone, at night. 

As Thomas drew closer the sounds clarified themselves. There were breaths, fairly rhythmic ones at that as well as the odd grunt, and there was a rattling of wood. 

_Well, shit._

Even Lord Grantham didn’t like cars that much. 

_Matthew perhaps, but…_

Thomas smirked to himself as he peered carefully into the open doorway. 

The smile died immediately. 

There were buttocks. Most definitely buttocks, _taunt_ buttocks, and the white tops of thighs revealed above trousers that were half-way to the knee. Their tall owner was stood with one arm resting on the wall in front of him. 

Looking down Thomas could see that the space between the man’s toes and the wall was occupied by a second man who had his hands up clutching the other man’s thighs; knees splayed on the floor, and most definitely with his mouth open. 

It was hard to say which of the two of them was working harder. 

Thomas had enough experience of similar to feel a twinge of sympathy for the man on the floor. 

_By rights he should be suffocating on that._

But the man’s fingertips clutched tightly at the thighs either side of his face, indenting the flesh enough to bruise, urging more. 

There was so little space between the standing man and the wall that the man below’s head became trapped up against the wood of the wall, and stayed there unmoving as the man above worked. 

Thomas felt a turn in his stomach rather than his loins.

He turned away. 

He returned to the tables without making a conscious decision to do so. Eyes wide, face blank, he took another cigarette out of his pocket. 

_[So who were they then?]_

_Shut up._

_[Whooo do you think that might have been?]_

_Not yet…_

_[Who were they?]_

‘SHUT UP!’

_Oh, shit._

Yes, that last one was definitely out loud. 

Thomas winced. 

The men in the garage were too occupied to have registered exactly what he had said, he hoped, but there was no way they hadn’t heard him. 

And yes, the sounds stopped. And after a pause there was the sound of footsteps behind him. 

‘Evening.’ Thomas offered flatly as Janek and Ian appeared at the side of the table. 


	45. Chapter 45

‘What you doing out here?’ Ian demanded. Thomas could see he was shaking. 

‘He’s fine.’ Janek said quickly. 

_No, really, it’s fine, he’s fine and it’s ALL fine…_

Thomas could hear the words as Janek silently communicated to Ian with little more than a nod and a pointed look. 

_Fine?_

_Fuck you._

‘Well…’ Ian said gruffly, sounding a little unsure. ‘Alright then.’ Thomas’s shoulders gave a little shudder at the intensity of Ian’s glowering. 

Janek gave a little twist of his head towards the house. With a final dark look to Thomas, Ian turned away to make his way back in.

Janek leaned down to Thomas. ‘Were you standing guard?’ He said softly, sounding far too amused for Thomas’s liking. 

Thomas clicked his tongue. ‘More like trying not to be sick.’ He replied tartly, flicking cigarette ash in Janek’s direction in an effort to get him to move away. 

Janek gave a laugh. ‘Oh, I see how it is…’ 

_I doubt you do, else you wouldn’t be smiling…_

‘Well I’m here, you’re here…’ Janek’s eyes flicked over to the open garage door. ‘… You know I’m game.’

Thomas looked up at him, cigarette burning his fingers but he barely noticed. 

‘I don’t even know…’ Thomas said. ‘…where to begin…’

And that was the truth.

‘Come on…’ Janek took the cigarette from Thomas’s fingers and put it out. He went to take hold of Thomas’s hand.

‘Right…’Thomas attempted to find his voice, flinching away from Janek’s fingers. ‘…first off, what you and him do is none of my business. I’m not _jealous_ , like you seem to be implying with that little shit-eating smirk of yours…’ 

The smirk widened. 

‘No, Janek.’ Thomas said, shaking his head. ‘No. I’m not jealous. That would mean I want anything more to do with you. Which I can promise you I really don’t.’

The smirk fell away, leaving a look of intense discomfort in its wake. 

‘And how could you possibly…’ Thomas’s words failed him for a moment, but he regained himself. ‘…possibly think that anyone would want to take you in there when you’ve just come out with _his_ stench…’ Thomas jabbed a finger towards the back door. ‘…all over your face?’

_Literally. You filth…_

Janek regained control of his face, smirked again, and thrummed the table top under his fingers. 

‘Fine.’ He said with a smile and turned to go. 

‘No, not fine.’ Thomas bit back before he could stop himself, he stood up and thumped the table top. He couldn’t abide Janek flouncing off with nary a crack in his armour, not after _that_. ‘You know there’s a word for lads like you…’ Thomas called as Janek continued to make his way to the door. 

Without looking back, Janek was gone. The door swung shut behind him.

Thomas wasn’t sure Janek had heard him. If he had, Thomas had a feeling he’d be paying for it later. 


	46. Chapter 46

A small group of builders were the only ones left in the servant’s hall when Thomas returned. 

Tosh and Patrick sat on one side of the table, the new red-head sat on the other. They were playing cards; Rummy if Thomas’s memory served. 

‘Join us, Mr Barrow!’ Patrick called. ‘We can start a new…’

He trailed off. 

Janek appeared beside Thomas in the doorway and pushed past him into the servant’s hall. He shot a quick look to Tosh and Patrick before bending down to murmur something in red-head’s ear. 

From his position in the doorway, Thomas stared blankly at Janek’s backside.

_So how long you been waiting for me to come back in to do this?_

The red-head rose without a word and followed Janek out. 

Thomas closed his eyes. 

‘…Or you could just take up Matt’s cards.’ Patrick said weakly. 

‘Thank you, I will.’ Thomas sighed, sinking into the vacant seat. 

Patrick waited until a few cards had gone down in the center of the table to speak. 

‘Something happened, didn’t it?’ 

Thomas stopped, mid-way through laying a card. He glanced at Tosh who had side-eyed Patrick nervously. 

Thomas finished laying the card. ‘Why’d you say that?’ He said, his voice coming out more gravelly than he’d have liked. 

‘He gets like this sometimes. Though usually not _that_ fucking blatant.’ Patrick added ruefully. ‘And it’s usually ‘cause…well, you know.’

‘I really don’t.’ Thomas said, suddenly feeling very hot despite there being only embers remaining in the grate. 

Patrick glanced to the door then leaned across the table. ‘Cause someone got close.’ He said, practically at a whisper. He sat back in his seat. 

Beside him, Tosh grimaced but gave a small nod of his head. 

Yes, the room was definitely too hot. 

‘Nothing…’ _Happened_. Thomas began to say, but he trailed off and bowed his head. He raised the back of a cool hand to one of his warm cheeks in an attempt to chase away the heat.

‘We’re sorry.’ Tosh blurted out. 

Patrick gave him a glare but then tapped his cards on the table and settled. ‘What he said.’ Patrick offered with a sigh.

‘What’s…what’s Janek doing?’ Thomas said nonchalantly, playing the next card with a shaking hand. 

‘Proving he doesn’t give a fuck?’ Patrick replied with a small shrug. He slid his card onto Thomas’s. 

‘We really are sorry.’ Tosh said, seemingly too stuck on the thought to move on. 

‘Why are you sorry?’ Said Thomas softly. 

But, having said his piece, Tosh was too clammed up to speak again. 

‘We thought he liked you.’ Patrick said. ‘We’ve been wrong before, but you…you he really seemed to like.’ Patrick shook his head, huffing so forcefully he almost blew the cards away. 

‘Looks like you were wrong again.’ Said Thomas, with as much attitude as he could muster. 

‘We weren’t wrong, I’m sure of it.’ Said Patrick quietly. ‘It’s him that’s…wrong. The lads he goes with when he’s in a mood like this…they’d rather be having a woman if one was available, if you take my meaning.’

‘It doesn’t matter about that.’ Said Thomas with a shiver, shuffling and splaying the cards in his hands. ‘What matter is why are you, his mates, just sitting there while he goes off and does this?’

‘Oh, you don’t tell Janek anything. At least not more than once.’ The corners of Patrick’s mouth curled up uncomfortably. 

‘But you’re his friends.’ Thomas asserted, slapping the next card down with more force than necessary. 

‘I can’t.’ Tosh said, shaking his head vigorously. ‘He can talk circles round me. I just can’t.’

‘You then…’ Thomas nudged in Patrick’s direction. 

Patrick let out a low whistle, looking extremely pained. ‘I can’t either…’

‘Why?’ Thomas said flatly. 

‘Few years ago, when I first met him…’ Patrick’s mouth gave another uncomfortable twist. ‘…I was…’ He swallowed. ‘…I was young and a bit stupid and I…took him up on something.’ 

‘Oh.’ Thomas sat back in his chair. 

Patrick nodded. ‘Yes.’ He said slowly. ‘And since then, whenever I try to talk to him about, you know…’ He nodded to the doorway. ‘…he just reminds me of _that_ and…’ Patrick sighed. ‘…talk over.’

They played a few more hands in silence. 

‘I just…’ Thomas said quietly. ‘…I don’t understand it.’ 

Patrick laid his next card. ‘Wish I did.’ He said. 

Thomas sat back in his chair and closed his eyes a moment. ‘I’d best get out there.’ He said wearily. 

‘Out where?’ Patrick frowned. 

‘To keep watch.’ 

‘To…you what?’ Said Tosh, looking deeply scandalised. 

‘Not like that.’ Said Thomas dully. ‘I mean to make sure no one else sees them.’

Patrick peered at him in confusion. ‘So what, it’s just lads ain’t it?’

‘Exactly. That’s _exactly_ it.’ Said Thomas getting to his feet. ‘I don’t know what kind of lads will be lads _bollocks_ …’ He almost spat the last words. ‘…they turn a blind eye to in your world, but here in bloody civilisation if they’re caught…’

‘If they’re caught, what?’ Patrick was still staring in confusion. 

‘I was almost arrested for nowhere near the level of what’s been going on out there.’ Thomas retorted. ‘And if they’re seen doing…what they’re doing, this household will make damn sure they’re put away for it. Both of them. I can promise you that. There’s no lads will be lads, don’t’ ask don’t tell, here.’

‘Perhaps we should…’ Tosh’s voice sounded meekly from beside Patrick. 

‘Yes, alright.’ Patrick said. ‘We’ll go…’ He said to Thomas. ‘You get yourself off to bed. It’ll look less strange if the two of us are just standing out there having a…’ He patted his jacket pocket. 

Thomas reached into his own pocket and tossed the packet of cigarettes to Patrick. 

‘Thank you.’ Said Patrick. 

‘Don’t mention it.’ Said Thomas. ‘ _Ever_ again.’ He added pointedly. 


	47. Chapter 47

The next day Thomas was resolved to avoid Janek, or at least to avoid conversation or eye contact of any kind.

So naturally he found himself stuck in a room alone with him a little after half-past ten in the morning. 

Thomas was in hunt of lace doilies, of all things, for the tea trays. And his hunt had led to him clattering into the laundry room without looking. 

‘Ugh!’ The groan was out before Thomas could stop it, and it destroyed any chance of being able to dart quickly to the cupboard for the doilies without Janek noticing him. 

Janek was scrubbing his shirt in the sink, soap suds all the way up his bare arms. He turned his head, sighed, and went back to his task. 

‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’ Thomas said as he rummaged through the cupboard. 

‘I was, and I will be.’ Came the reply. ‘I just have to wash this off now or it will set.’ 

‘Jolly good.’ Said Thomas, doilies procured. He went to leave, but stopped. ‘How are you this morning?’ He said with bite. ‘Tired, I imagine?’

Janek didn’t reply. 

‘You running another session tonight?’

Still no reply. 

‘Well if you are, I’m sure I can snag some of Lady Mary’s lipstick for you...’

Janek turned. 

‘…make you more attractive to your target audience.’ Thomas concluded with a smile. 

The shirt slapped viciously down into the water, but Janek’s face was deadly calm. ‘Is there a problem here Thomas?’

‘It’s Mr Barrow.’

Janek raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s Thomas.’ He said. ‘And I ask again, is there a problem here Thomas?’

‘Well it’s like this Janek.’ Said Thomas. ‘There are two kinds of people in this world. There’s them that go with people they can see spending their lives with, and there’s them that offer it out to anyone who’ll have them. And like I said yesterday, there’s a word for that second one.’

Thomas heard Janek chuckle. ‘Ignorant Thomas…’ He hummed. 

‘How’s that?’

‘There is a third kind.’ Said Janek, he dragged his shirt up from the bowl and began wringing it roughly between his hands. ‘The happy kind.’

‘And who are they Janek?’ Thomas’s feet moved of their own accord to bring him to the side of the sink as Janek stepped away, still wringing out water onto the stone floor. 

‘They’re the ones…’ Janek swung the sopping shirt back over his shoulders. ‘…who enjoy themselves while they can, before they get married.’

_And I’d have to agree with you on that one. Nice and healthy a perspective._

_That is, if you weren’t a raging…_

‘Wait…are you saying _you_ intend to get married?’

Janek shrugged. ‘I must.’

Thomas leaned into the sink. ‘Well isn’t that a fine thing.’ 

_You took care of me here, didn’t you. By this sink…_

Janek peered at Thomas’s expression. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘What’s wrong with me?’ Thomas laughed. ‘What’s wrong with _you_? You’ve a job that means no one would question if you never settle down proper, and you’ve got friends who know you for who you are…and still… _STILL_?’

‘Still what?’

‘Still you plan to marry.’

Janek blinked in confusion. ‘Yes.’

Thomas bowed his head. 

'What is it?' Said Janek.

'I just wonder sometimes...' Said Thomas. '...if I'm the only bloke in the world who thinks a man's enough.'

_That I could be enough._

Janek said nothing.

Thomas sniffed and pushed himself away from the sink, doily’s perched daintily over one arm. ‘Well my condolences to your future wife.’ He said. 

_Poor poor bitch. Stuck with you and the remnants of all the…_

Thomas made it half-way to the door before turning around. 

‘You know what, I’ve got a theory…’ He said grandly. 

‘Oh?’ 

‘Oh yes.’ Thomas continued. ‘See I don’t think you want a wife. I _know_ you don’t, in fact…And I notice you’re not rushing to correct me on that.’ He added after a pause. ‘I think you do what you do…’ Thomas said. ‘…to prove you can do it with no feelings, because you do have feelings don’t you? But you have to make yourself believe they’re not there. That’s why you usually go for blokes who aren’t like you, isn’t it? That's why you push it with them enough to hurt, isn't it?’ 

Janek’s face betrayed nothing, his expression bland as a clear sky. But for Thomas the absence of the trademark smirk spoke volumes in itself. 

‘You made a mistake with me, didn’t you?’ Said Thomas. ‘Cause I’ve never been afraid of what I feel. What you did last night, that was you _really_ panicking, wasn’t it?’

Still no answer, still blankness. 

‘Well there it is then.’ Said Thomas. ‘A nice little mistake, a mutual one, I might add. And we'll say no more. But…’ He sighed, grudgingly compelled to continue. ‘…I have to warn you, you are putting yourself in danger by carrying on like that here. You need to stop.’

Janek rolled his eyes, his face coming alive again as he went to argue.

_Funny how you’ve been all silent up to now, isn’t it?_

‘I’m…’

‘Careful?’ Thomas cut him off. ‘No, Janek. What I saw last night wasn’t careful…’

_Deranged, perhaps._

‘And just to note, it didn’t look all that happy or fun neither from where I was standing.’ Thomas slammed the door behind him. 


	48. Chapter 48

Over the next week the house was a battle ground. 

Each day the builders seemed to do something new to scandalise the aristocracy. For example going into several of the bedrooms to inspect the walls, one of which had a partially dressed Matthew in it at the time, without asking permission…or knocking. 

And each day the staff had to clear up the mess. Literally, in the case of the above example, spending hours unpicking muddy footprints from loosely woven rugs.  

The eventual arrival of a trio of electricians went some way to raising everyone’s spirits; even though there was an awful lot of whistling through teeth and head-shaking as they surveyed the damage, which suggested the job wouldn’t be the quick fix Lord Grantham had hoped for. 

The progress on the lovingly dubbed ‘hole’ in the side of the Abbey was something more to shout about. With enough men, and the correct scaffolding, work was ploughing ahead. There was actually some genuine construction now, instead of just clearance. 

Downstairs things had settled a bit. The builders staying in the house were keeping more to themselves and often requested rolls or the like that they could take to the building site with them rather than sitting down with the household staff for meals. Twice they had taken their dinners over at the cottage the others were staying at.

It was a blessed relief for all, not just Thomas. The tall builder, Ian, had quickly obtained a reputation for being a highly gruff and unpleasant man. But it had been Janek that had set everyone’s teeth on edge the past week. He never quite said or did anything that he could be pulled up on, but there was a pervading sourness to his attitude that had people moving seats when he sat down to avoid being near him. Not that Janek seemed to notice.

 _Or cared._ Thomas considered to be the more likely explanation. 

 _Too much of something, or not enough?_ Thomas mused to himself each time Janek’s sour face appeared in the servant’s hall. 

Thomas was watching progress on the ‘hole’ in the side of the Abbey intently, counting each new brick and wooden beam as one step closer to being rid of Janek and the rest for good. 

_Although…_

Thomas thought one afternoon as he stood over Alfred and Jimmy working on the candlesticks. ‘No, you need to work into those grooves there…’ And neither of them flinched, rolled their eyes or back-chatted at his instruction. 

_…there have been some benefits to come out of having them here._

‘Hey…’ Said a weak voice from the doorway, belonging to an owner that was clearly too preoccupied for the complete ‘Hello’.

Thomas turned. ‘Patrick?’

Patrick was leaning heavily against the doorway, pale face speckled a blotchy red. He wasn’t crying then, but he had been, and just as Thomas turned to him his face screwed up for another bout. 

‘You alright there?’ Jimmy got to his feet beside Thomas, glancing to him as though expecting him to know what to do about the man who looked like he was going to keel over in the doorway. 

Alfred had paused mid-polish, and likewise was looking to Thomas for instruction. 

‘Are you hurt?’ Said Thomas as clearly as he could, daring a step forwards with Jimmy at his back.  

Patrick shook his head. ‘No…’ It came out a painful whine. 

There were footsteps outside. 

Patrick shrank into the doorframe to let Carson and Tosh pass. 

_He’s expecting them then…?_

Tosh looked to be in better shape than Patrick, but that wasn’t saying much; his face was wrinkled like a toddler just coming out of a tantrum. 

‘Mr Barrow…’ 

Thomas didn’t like it when Carson looked this stern. 

‘…Alfred, James…’ Carson continued, looking glad the three of them were all together. 

_Oh no._

‘…I have today been informed…’ Carson cleared his throat. ‘…that Fred Brews passed at a quarter past seven yesterday evening. I am given to understand that the causes were…’

Thomas felt suddenly very cold. Jimmy’s hand went to his wrist. 

‘... massive internal infection…’

By the doorframe Tosh had a hand on Patrick’s shoulder as the latter seemed to be trying to burrow his wet nose into the wood to disappear. 

‘…and clotting of the blood in the lungs.’ Carson reeled off the information as precisely as if he were reading the morning paper aloud, but Thomas could see even he was affected by the dark outcome. ‘Of course, conclusive cause of…conclusive cause will not be known until…’

‘Thank you, Mr Carson.’ Thomas cut in. No need to hear more. Carson was distressed, and now he, Jimmy and a very pale and vacant-faced Alfred were right there with him. ‘Thank you for telling us. I appreciate that.’

By the door Patrick gave a sob. 

‘Mr Carson, might I…’ Thomas eyed the men around him. ‘…take these lads away from their duties for a private word, bit of a remembrance, like?’

‘You’ll find no argument from me, Mr Barrow.’ Carson replied. Thomas could see he was doing his best not to think of the blood staining the grass of the Abbey, and he briefly considered asking Carson if he wanted to join too. But that wouldn’t work, not for what he had planned. 

‘But perhaps these gentlemen here…’ Carson indicated Tosh and Patrick. ‘…ought to speak with Mr Coyne.’

‘I’ll see to it.’ Said Thomas smartly, eager to let himself slip into organisation-mode to shut down the unpleasant noises that threatened uproar in his head. Especially at the mention of the lungs. ‘Wait…’

_Oh shit._

‘…does _Janek_ know?’ Thomas addressed Carson but it was Patrick who replied. 

Patrick’s cheek rubbed against the wood of the doorframe as he nodded. ‘He was there when he told us.’

‘Where is he now?’ Said Thomas, stepping quickly towards Tosh and Patrick to peer behind them into the corridor. 

‘I’ll leave you to it Mr Barrow.’ Carson nodded his head sharply and left. 

‘ _Where is he now?_ ’ Thomas repeated, louder this time. 

Tosh went to shrug. 

‘No, no, no.’ Said Thomas, taking hold of Tosh’s considerably meaty shoulder to guide him out into the corridor. ‘You go and find him, and you do it now. You hear me?’ Tosh nodded quickly, looking a little afraid of this unfamiliar Mr Barrow. 

‘You find him and you bring him to…the garage, that’s where we’ll be.’ 

If Thomas could have thought of _any_ other private place large enough to seat six men he’d have gone with it. But as it was the garage would have to do, associations be damned.  

‘ _DON’T_ come and tell me you can’t find him.’ Thomas released Tosh with a shove. He turned back to the others. 

‘You two…’ Thomas pointed between Jimmy and Alfred. ‘…you see Patrick here to the garage. I’ll be there in a moment...And grab some glasses on your way.’ He added.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the little dominos are finally lined up and ready for the kicking. Also, shameless homage to Mad Men S7 scene on imminent horizon. Massive credit to that scene for giving me the key to unlock this thing and tip the balance where I need it. I've got tens of thousands of words elsewhere on Ao3 that testify to how hard it is to come up with a happy ending for these guys!!!!


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. Was. HARD.

‘Think we need to work on your arithmetic boys…’ Thomas said as he entered the garage to find Jimmy, Patrick and Alfred sat on the floor around only four glasses.

Perfectly timed to ram the point home, Tosh appeared with Janek through the wide doors at the front. 

Tosh looked flustered and slightly stunned that he’d managed to accomplish Thomas’s order. Janek just looked like he wanted to bolt. 

‘Here…’ Thomas walked forwards, undoing the red ribbon binding the two whiskey bottles in his hands as he went. 

‘No, they’re yours…’ Patrick protested. 

‘If you think…’ Thomas dropped to his knees in the dirt, smart trousers be damned. ‘…that I want to see either of these bottles after today…’ He sloshed a generous amount of liquid into the four glasses and held out the bottle in Janek’s direction. ‘…you’ve got another thing coming.’

The offered bottle worked a charm on their skittish companion. Janek hurried forward to take it, went to sit down, and had three deep swallows in his throat before his backside hit the floor. 

‘Have at it.’ Thomas said to the others, indicating the glasses. Four hands surged hungrily forwards. 

For himself, Thomas undid the second bottle, and took a seat in the circle. 

‘Anyone want to say something?’ Said Thomas, looking around the assembled group. 

In their own different ways, each was hunched in on himself, looking at their glass or the floor in silence. 

‘Well I’ll start then…’ Said Thomas. ‘…I would like to raise a bottle…’ He held the whiskey in his hand aloft. ‘…to a poor lad who was just doing his damn job.’ His voice cracked. Thomas quickly chased it away with a drink. 

‘Aye.’ Tosh and Patrick raised their glasses and drank. Jimmy and Alfred echoed them. Janek said nothing, but the bottle lingered at his lips a little longer than before as he took a swig. 

‘He was a very nice lad…’ Patrick’s voice was a good few octaves higher than usual. Unable to say more, or verbally invite them to raise their glasses, Patrick swung his hand into the air. 

The others copied. 

‘Aye.’

‘Here here.’

‘We knew him four years…’ Tosh spoke, his voice taking on a high tone for the last two words. ‘And he, he weren’t as old as us. But he worked very hard. Very hard. And…’ Tosh started crying. ‘And he was so young, and there’s a lot of things he won’t never get to do…’ Thomas’s lip quivered and he felt his own eyes start to water. ‘…but I fancy we looked after him as best we could…’ Tosh patted Patrick’s knee beside him vigorously. ‘…and he had a good life.’

By the end only Janek was dry-eyed, staring blankly into the centre of the circle while the others snivelled. 

The men all drank, Patrick a little more than the others. 

He turned to Tosh. ‘That’s the most you’ve ever said.’ He smiled. ‘Ever.’

Tosh managed a grin back. 

‘To Fred…’ Thomas offered, raising his bottle. 

‘To Fred.’ The four men nearest echoed.

They all drank. 

‘On behalf of this here decrepit ageing old whore of a house…’ Thomas raised his bottle again. He was well on his way to trollied, and grateful of that, as otherwise he might have hesitated to say precisely what he meant. ‘…and the selfish idiot who abides in her, who knows nothing of any consequence about the real world, but who somehow holds all our lives in his hands…I would like to say how very sorry we are…’ He took a swig. ‘…very sorry. ‘Cause you won’t get one from the man that owes it.’

There was a silent round of drinking. Both Jimmy and Alfred nodding in agreement, looking bleakly down into their glasses. 

‘Thank you for saying that…’ Said Patrick, elbows resting on his knees, as Thomas leaned forwards to freshen everyones drinks. ‘…But what needs to be said is thank you for what you did for him. He’d have been gone right there if you hadn’t come.’

‘Might have been kinder.’ Thomas mumbled as he sat back down, speaking more to himself than the men. 

‘No.’ Patrick said firmly. ‘We got to say our goodbyes before they took him. And he didn’t go looking up at an unfamiliar sky…’ His shoulders gave a shudder. 

_Unfamiliar sky…_

_No, Fred didn’t go looking up at an unfamiliar sky._

‘Thomas cleared his throat. ‘I wanted to bring you all together here to say proper memorial because we shared that…that horrible day when he fell. But I haven’t got Carson and the hall boys here ‘cause….’cause there’s something else that us here all share. And I don’t think I’m wrong in saying I saw it in your faces in the days after the accident.’

_Well, most of your faces…_

Thomas looked up to Janek who was the one person still with his head down, legs crossed, bottle leant against his leg. The others were all looking to Thomas, confused but rapt in their attention. 

‘I thought perhaps, it should be said out loud.’ Thomas continued, he swallowed. ‘In 1916 there was blood on the fields in a different place…’ It was the darkest of memories, but the strength of the trembling in his voice and body still surprised him. Around him, the others looked away. ‘…I think a man can’t help be touched by what happened in the war. We’ve all here seen things we shouldn’t have seen. And I think what happened to Fred reminded us all of that. I just wanted to say…’ Thomas’s screwed up his face, rocking a little side to side as he spoke. ‘…I understand.’

Beside him Jimmy’s head nodded rapidly, tears staining his cheeks. 

Alfred’s mouth had gone taunt, as though it was trying to hold his face together. His knuckles were white around his glass. 

Patrick swayed to the side, leaning his head to Tosh’s shoulder. 

Tosh gave a sharp nod and puffed out his cheeks.

Though he was in the circle, Janek still seemed strangely outside of it. He gave no reaction. The slow rise and fall of the bottle to his lips continued at the same pace it had before. 

Tosh sniffed. ‘That was bad business.’ He said. At his shoulder Patrick nodded. 

‘They said we were heroes…’ Jimmy’s voice was bland, vacant even. His eyes staring forwards into nothing. ‘…but I wasn’t.’ He said, voice becoming weak. Sat with his shoulders bowed he looked very small. 

‘Why’d you say that?’ Alfred gently prompted. 

‘I hid.’ Said Jimmy, the words punching out of his mouth like they’d been waiting there a lifetime for release. ‘I hid. I hid.’

Patrick leaned forwards, lips slightly parted, eager almost. ‘Go on, lad.’

‘I hid.’ Jimmy repeated, chin pushing into his chest as he shook his head. ‘I was so good when we were training...I knew what I was doing, I always kept myself smart…’ Jimmy’s hand went up to brush at the front of his hair, an involuntary motion that had Jimmy shaking his head even more miserably when he caught himself doing it. ‘…And then we got there and it was so filthy and loud.’ He bit his lip. ‘The day we were meant to go over the top, I was in one of the dugouts and the order came. But I didn’t go up right away. I didn’t go up, and then there was all noise and panicking and…’ He let out a shaky breath. ‘…and I just crouched where I was and hoped no one would see me.’ The last word was a keening whine. 

‘They didn’t did they?’ Said Thomas firmly. ‘Else you wouldn’t be here. Don’t you be fretting about that.’

Jimmy looked to him in surprise, eyes watering. 

‘By rights you shouldn’t be here. And I shouldn’t be neither.’ Thomas said, hearing his own voice melt to a softness as phantom gunfire crackles made his shoulders flinch. ‘But I’m glad we’re both here, aren’t you?’

A gasp forced itself through Jimmy’s mouth. Through the misery of his face, his eyes shone with naked thanks. ‘Why shouldn’t you be here?’ He said softly. Thomas recognised in him the same eagerness Patrick had shown moments earlier. 

_Share, please share…_

And Patrick seemed to have been gladdened and saddened by Jimmy’s words in equal measure. 

‘I’m worse than you. I did a very bad thing.’ Thomas said shakily. ‘I made it over the top more than a few times, but I am a bad man.’

‘There’s no bad men here.’ Tosh’s voice sounded from behind Patrick. 

Thomas sniffed. ‘I don’t know how much you two know…’ He said turning to Jimmy, and Alfred who had propped himself up on his knees behind Jimmy. ‘…about what I did in the war?’

‘You ran the hospital here, Mr Barrow.’ Said Alfred. 

‘Do you know why I was here to do that?’ 

Alfred and Jimmy shook their heads. 

Thomas held up his hand and twisted it to show both sides of the radiating raised white lines around the roughness at the centre of his palm. ‘This is it…this is the injury.’ Thomas said, giving a bitter laugh at how innocuous it looked compared to memories of men missing limbs or parts of their faces. He glanced over to Janek, but Janek’s posture hadn’t changed. He was still swigging away on his own, disengaged from the group. ‘My blighty.’ Thomas said, lowering the hand to tuck it under his thigh. ‘After two years I couldn’t handle it anymore, the blood and the smell and…’ He shuddered. ‘…so I lit me lighter…’ Thomas extracted his hand and mimed flicking on a flame. ‘…and held my hand up.’ His nostrils flared as he looked up to his raised hand. ‘And I got to go home.’

Silence ensued. Thomas was braced for reproach, but at the same time beyond caring if it came. 

‘Any with a brain would’ve done the same if they’d had the stones for it.’ Tosh finally said, settling himself back down in his space. 

Patrick chewed at his lip and said nothing. 

Thomas forced himself to look to Jimmy and Alfred. The gratitude in Jimmy’s eyes was still there, stronger even than before behind his sadness. 

‘I understand, Mr Barrow.’ Said Alfred, he stayed sat on his heels and shuffled a little to reform the circle. He stared down at the center; a man with something to say and not wanting to look at anyone while he said it. ‘I thought about it…’ Alfred said quietly. ‘…shooting myself.’ He drained the rest of his glass and Thomas handed the bottle to Jimmy to inconspicuously replenish it. ‘But not like you…’ Alfred continued. ‘…I meant to do it so I wouldn’t be going on at all.’

‘God…’ Jimmy whispered beside him. 

Thomas was stunned silent. 

_Alfred…?_

‘We’d done something…’ Alfred’s hands clenched into fists at his knees. ‘…and I couldn’t…’

They waited quietly.

‘There were these two farm houses, near the lines…’ Alfred said dolefully. ‘…there were more than one family in each, women and little ones and…they’d stayed ‘cause they were their homes, like. But when the lines moved…’ He continued to stare darkly at the dirt on the floor in the center of the circle. His fists became claws at his knees. ‘…we had to go turf them all out. Had to send them on their way. I couldn’t understand them…’ Alfred shook his head. ‘…but they were all crying and pleading. And it was winter .’ He gave a shuddering sigh. ‘I didn’t want to be part of it anymore.’ He said. ‘I watched them walking down the road while our men ate through all the food in their cupboards in the empty houses, and I thought…’

‘What stopped you?’ Jimmy’s voice was quiet beside him. 

Alfred shuddered and shrugged, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. ‘I don’t know.’ He said. ‘Honest God’s truth is I don’t know.’

‘But you have stopped thinking it, haven’t you?’ Thomas said, leaning to watch his face closely. 

Alfred nodded. 

‘You sure?’

Alfred nodded again. 

‘Alright then.’ Said Thomas carefully. 

‘We all did what we had to do then lad.’ Said Tosh, holding his empty glass out to Thomas. Thomas filled it almost to the brim as Tosh kept nodding for more as he poured. ‘Whether it’s what you got ordered to do, or just what you knew you had to do. You had to do it.’

Hardly an eloquent speech, but Thomas fancied he couldn’t have put it better himself. 

‘Now me…’ Tosh said, drinking deep. ‘…since we’re all sharing. Me I did what I had to do, just like you lad…’ He pointed a finger to Alfred. ‘For a time we didn’t have no food where I was. None. Not a bit of it.’ He continued to look to Alfred as he went on. ‘I promise you I’d have taken food right out the hands of a crying babe. Cupboards full of food would’ve been all the favour of the Good Lord I’d have asked in me lifetime.’ More of the liquid in his glass vanished hungrily. ‘We ate anything. Plants that made us sick. Biscuits stolen off dead men. And the dogs that came to sniff round them.’ The glass was back at his lips. Tosh stopped mid-way through his enthusiastic swallow and suddenly let out a raucous laugh that sprayed them all with whisky. ‘You know I was skinny as you lad before the war…’ He pointed to Alfred again. Thomas stared at the portly-going-on-huge man and frowned, scarce able to believe it. Patrick seemed surprised too, though it could have equally been shock at the number of words from Tosh; usually prone to the one-sentence and grunt conversation, now making his second speech of the day. ‘…then, in the war, I came to look like nothing but bones…’ Tosh continued. ‘…and then, oh then…’ Tosh’s head rolled back and he smiled at the ceiling. ‘…oh beautiful Britannia. Back home, and fed, I…’ The wondrous expression fell from his face. ‘…I eat and I drink…’ He sloshed his glass. ‘…and I eat again. I did it then, and I do it now. ‘Cause I don’t seem to be able to believe it won’t be gone again.’

Thomas cringed as he recalled the image of Tosh stuffing handfuls of Mrs Patmore’s cake into his mouth, and he suspected Patrick was doing the same. Even Janek’s blankness seemed to slightly shift, his hand trembling as it held the bottle at his lips, but he didn’t turn to them. 

Patrick rubbed at Tosh’s back. Tosh nodded to him in thanks. 

‘What about you?’ Jimmy’s small voice broke into the sobs. ‘When you were…you were asking me earlier…’ He pointed to Patrick. ‘…there’s something for you too, isn’t there?’

Even amidst the potent misery that had settled to cling to the air of the garage like a smog, Thomas was impressed. Jimmy was capable of many things, but Thomas had never thought perception to be one of them. But there he was, recognising an unspoken need, inviting the man opposite to lay down his load with the rest of them. 

‘Me?’ Said Patrick with a bitter smile. ‘Me, I’m a weak thing. I hated it all. I hated the filth, the food, the close quarters and the…’ He closed his eyes. ‘…and the killing.’ He sighed deeply, hand still rubbing at Tosh’s back. 

Thomas noticed out of the corner of his eye that Janek had finally raised his head. He was watching Patrick. Same blank expression as ever, but he was watching. 

‘My secret shame…’ Said Patrick. ‘…it’s that I never fired my gun once, least not at a man.’ He sniffed. ‘And worse than that I let others run in front of me. I always ran behind, so they would be shot instead of me.’ The bitter smile took on a slightly manic edge. ‘And they were.’ Patrick sighed. ‘…Oh!’ Patrick exclaimed suddenly, looking to the side.

Thomas followed Patrick’s eye line. Janek had moved his head back to stare at the centre again. It was a small movement, one Thomas hadn’t caught, but evidently Patrick had. 

‘Ha!’ Patrick broke into cackling laugh, he stared relentlessly at the side of Janek’s stoic face. ‘Oh ha, ha, ha…!’ Every part of Patrick shook violently, his eyes watered, his smile stretched painfully wide across his face. 

The others looked to each other in alarm. Beside Patrick, Tosh began to shift as though readying to take hold of him.

‘Valour indefatigable!’ Patrick raised his glass and shouted, still cackling to himself. ‘Valour indefatigable…’ He repeated, eyes still fixed on the motionless Janek. ‘That’s what they said about you, wasn’t it? In that letter you had me read to you…’ 

Patrick lowered his glass, shoulders trembling. ‘…valour indefatigable.’ He took a deep swig from his glass, finally breaking his stare. ‘Cause you were the perfect soldier, weren’t you. Not like me.’ He muttered into his glass. ‘Fearless and true. The perfect man.’ Patrick’s laughter continued as he thrust a finger in Janek’s direction. ‘This man here…’ He said turning back to the others. ‘…this man here’s one of those that exists to remind men like us how pathetic we really are.’ He shook his head bitterly. ‘Sitting here talking to you lot…’ He continued. ‘…I can almost believe I’m in good company. I can almost believe that we’re not cowards, we’re not weak, we’re just men, but…’ He looked to Janek again. The laughter was gone now, replaced by pained sobs. ‘…then there’s him. There’s him that stood right in the enemy’s face and gave 'em what for. None of it touched you, did it?’ Patrick was crying freely now. ‘Not the guns, not the hunger, not the…’ He trailed off, tears rolling from his cheeks to his knees. ‘Untouchable valour indefatigable.’ He whispered. 


	50. Chapter 50

Janek moved, and for a moment Thomas was very very afraid. 

The fear stayed as Janek went to touch Patrick’s shoulder.

Janek’s eyes were wide, unseeing, his face placid. But the air in the garage was suddenly electric, silent but loud enough to set off a ringing in Thomas’s ears. 

He watched as Janek waited for Patrick to turn to him. 

‘The things you say…’ Janek said. Patrick turned his head. Thomas drew breath sharply, but Janek’s hand fell away from Patrick’s shoulder as gently as it had come. ‘…it is not special for me. Why would I care about those things?’

Thomas could see Patrick’s confusion. He could also see Tosh watching warily, ready to surge forward or jump to his feet at a moment’s notice. 

But Janek gave no further cause for alarm. When he spoke his voice was clear and soft. He spoke to Patrick, but the others listened. 

‘I grew up on a farm.’ Janek said to Patrick. ‘I was a small boy with three brothers, a father, an uncle. I was the last to bathe, the last to eat. When there were troubles the dogs ate better than me. They had a use, they protected the animals. I could do little. All I could do was sleep with the animals, to wake the men sleeping in the house if trouble came. You say filth, you say hunger. I say how could life in the trench be bad for me?’

Janek withdrew from Patrick and crossed his legs loosely in front of him, bottle and hands clasped in his lap. 

Patrick and Tosh were watching in rapt silence, and Thomas mentally begged Jimmy and Alfred to continue do the same. 

Janek gave a chocked laugh, staring down at his feet. ‘And the fighting, the killing?’ He laughed again. ‘We were never safe at the farm.’ This time he looked up and took in all of them with his blank gaze. ‘For us it was Poland, but they called us Russia. And we were in the badlands, alone, where soldiers and men of the road wandered free to seek food, property and…and what sport they could take.’ The pitch of Janek’s voice rose slightly higher. ‘Before my family came to England I’d seen my uncle and my father die. And I’d killed a man.’ Thomas felt a shiver down his spine as Janek continued to sweep his eyes about the space. ‘I was nine…’ Janek said. ‘…and he was attacking my mother.’

Patrick leaned to him. ‘Jan…’ He began, but Janek continued, voice as steady and soft as it had been before. 

‘It was a duty for my family.’ He said, and Patrick said no more. Janek took a shaky and too enthusiastic swig from the bottle. ‘And then we came to England. And my mother and brothers, we had a home here. A home that no one would come to take from us. For years I watched them thrive here.’ Janek cleared his throat, shoulders visibly tensing.

‘When the war came it was like the farm again. Only now I could do something.’ The tension in his shoulders travelled to his arms, twitching against the fabric of his shirt. ‘I was grown and I could do something. And I was going to do something.’ He nodded his head. ‘And I did.’

He lolled back a little, head raised again but this time looking at none of them.

‘That gun felt so good in my hands…’ Thomas could hear Janek’s accent slipping, the Scouse drawl giving way to a foreign sharpness. ‘Duty to your family and to God was the first and only thing I was ever taught. And I could at last do my duty.’ Janek took in a shaky breath and chased it with more whisky. ‘I wasn’t important, the safe space of England was important.’

‘And I did my duty.’ The tension left Janek’s body, leaving him curled in on himself and strangely small. ‘And I did it as best I could. I did it well. And I returned.’

He turned back to Patrick. ‘So no. The war did not touch me.’ He sighed, swigged, and Thomas could see it was only with momentous effort that Janek kept his head up. ‘But it touched my brothers.’ He said. ‘They journeyed from Poland to England, from England to France.’ Janek sighed again. ‘And they are all still in France somewhere.’

Thomas saw Patrick struggle to keep his face straight, and saw the way he slumped down, mouth open, when Janek finally looked away.  

‘You all have sadness?’ Janek indicated round the group with the bottle clutched in his hand. ‘I have sadness too. And what is my sadness?’ Another swig. ‘It is that I cannot see why I am alive and they should be dead. They had dreams, they had a meaning. But I had nothing. I have nothing. There is nothing I wanted for myself, or anything I _could_ do. I wasn’t raised to…to work for another and earn good wages. I was never taught to read or write. I never wanted a wife or children…’ 

That last part set off an uncomfortable clenching in Thomas’s gut. Part familiarity. Part worry on account of Alfred and Jimmy still sitting silently listening. But heaven would have to split before he interrupted the slow, disturbingly steady, unburdening before him. 

‘Some days I think God has kept me alive for a joke.’ Janek gave a laugh that cut Thomas to the bone. ‘A curse on me and my mother.’ Janek drew breath. ‘And then I think no. Maybe I was kept alive _for_ her. A payment, for the lives of my brothers. That is what she tells me. What she believes…’ He paused a moment, staring into nothing. His voice remained steady but he spoke as though from a hundred miles away. ‘My brothers’ hopes and futures are my burden. I carry them with me. I hear them in my dreams. The dreams are theirs…’ Janek’s voice rose again. ‘…a big family to be together, to care for my mother, the money they were to earn, the lives they were supposed to have.’

Janek relinquished his hold on the whisky bottle to fumble in his pocket for his tobacco pouch. A good third of the contents spilled on the floor as he opened it. Thomas would have thrown one of his own cigarettes over, but he feared breaking the current spell. He was intensely grateful when Patrick took the pouch gently away and began to roll a cigarette for Janek.

There was a pregnant pause while Janek waited silently for first the rolled up cigarette and then a lighter. 

Smoke obtained, he took several deep breaths of it. The others waited, unsure, exchanging questioning glances. 

Then, finally, Janek spoke. 

‘I am failing.’ He said, his voice and body suddenly broken with those three simple words. ‘I am failing my mother. I cannot be the man she needs me to be.’ He flicked ash away. ‘And more than that…I fail her but I do not make myself happy in my selfishness either.’ The cigarette was back at his lips again. ‘If I cannot make her happy at least _I_ should be happy, no?’  

He gave a very shaky sigh. ‘I am nothing, I have nothing.’ He said, shaking his head, forehead crinkling. ‘Just the clothes you see and some rags up in the house.’ He could barely keep his lips from trembling as he took another pull of smoke. ‘I send my money to my mother. It is all I can offer. But it is not enough, it will never be. But what does it matter?’ He was crying. ‘What else would I spend it on? I have no aspirations, no hopes, and I take no love into my life. I was not raised to have anything that is mine.’

He finished the cigarette. Beside him Patrick immediately went to roll another, his hands shaking this time more than before. But Janek stopped him, leaning to take hold of his wrist to still him.

‘The one thing I do have…’ Janek began but had to pause a moment. ‘I am _proud_ …’ He said with a firmness that seemed alien at the wateriness of his eyes. ‘…to say I found three more brothers.’ He released his hold on Patrick’s wrist and sat back, taking the whisky bottle back in hand, hugging his knees. 

‘One of them has died this day past…’ Janek raised the bottle, drank deep. ‘ _Wieczny odpoczynek_ …’ He said quietly, and leaned back to spill whisky on the floor. 

The others watched, still silent, no one daring to speak.  

Janek’s arms came back to his knees.

‘And two are here with me now. And I am glad you are here…’ He looked to Tosh and Patrick, fighting to keep his voice level. ‘I am glad for whatever has kept it so that you can be here. I look at everyone here…’ But now Janek looked down to the floor, struggling for his words. ‘…and I hear your words, and I think I am glad you are here. And I think that…you are here because you all wanted to be here. And I think now, being here…’ He lost his voice entirely for a moment. ‘…I think my brothers did a foolish thing. Duty…what was their duty to, what did they win? They had lives here but they ran into death. If they had not they would have their lives now. And I have my life but what do I do with it?’

He had to pause again. When he looked back up he looked to Patrick. ‘Please do not hate me…’ He said. ‘…for being strong in my duty, it is all I could do. Do not hate me for being strong, the way they used to hate me for being weak. Say that you don’t, please?’ The last word was like a prayer.

Patrick had no words, but he shook his head briskly. Behind him, Tosh did the same. 

Janek let out an unsteady breath. His eyes briefly met Thomas’s. 

Thomas was unable to do anything but stare back. 

The moment passed, and Janek got shakily to his feet. He turned towards the doors. 

‘Janek…’ Patrick said. 

But Janek walked away in silence, leaving the whisky bottle on the floor where he had sat. 

Patrick regarded it for a moment, before rising to his feet to follow him. 

The other four sat, looking at the empty doorway. It was several minutes before anyone spoke. 

‘We did a good thing lads.’ Tosh ventured, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as them. ‘We did a good thing back there. Good thing for King and Country.’

The answering nods were weak. 

Tosh refilled his glass from the bottle Janek had left behind. 

‘And there’s all these babies now…’ He said. ‘…that won’t never know what we all gave.’ He took a deep swallow. ‘And that’s a good thing lads. That’s a good thing.’

Jimmy suddenly stirred beside Thomas. A moment later he had disappeared out the door and the sounds of retching echoed through the garage. 

Thomas felt like joining him.


	51. Chapter 51

Thomas and the footmen managed to get through the evening’s dinner service without incident. They managed to conceal their swaying and slightly bleary eyes tolerably in the candle-lit room, and there were no spillages or breakages to speak of. 

There were no signs of life in the servant’s hall that night. Thomas debated lingering there, or in the yard, for a bit to see if the others appeared. Especially Janek and Patrick, who were still out walking as far as he knew. But in the end the urge for sleep and solitude won out and he headed off to bed. 

Breakfast the next morning was a quiet affair. Thomas occupied himself with his plate, feeling more than a little worse for wear, and was one of the last ones to finish. 

Jimmy and Carson were already pottering about in the kitchen to ready the family’s breakfast trays when Thomas finally emerged. 

He went to walk to join them but was accosted by Patrick before he could take a step. 

‘Mr Barrow!’ Patrick declared, voice sounding a little too jolly. So much so that Thomas suspected Patrick might have squirreled away some of the whisky in the garage to toss back that morning. ‘I was wondering if I might…’ 

Thomas saw Patrick’s floury and butter smeared hand coming towards his shoulder with far too much speed for him to react. With a resounding thump, Patrick’s hand connected with the fabric of his jacket. 

‘Oh no!’ Thomas shrugged out of Patrick’s grip and out of his jacket. Yes, there it was, a nice old smear. ‘Oh fu…’ Thomas caught himself from swearing on account of the proximity of Carson. But only just. 

He hurried away to the laundry room. 

‘I’m sorry, Mr Barrow.’ Patrick called after him, sounding far too pleased with himself for Thomas’s liking. 

Thomas mumbled some very choice words under his breath as his feet pounded the floor. 

He wrenched open the door to the laundry room, all but fell down the steps on his way in, and found himself face to face with Janek. 

‘Oh, I…’ Thomas began, trying to catch his breath. He held up his jacket by way of explanation. ‘Bloody Patrick.’ He said and pushed past Janek, who had managed to be right in his way, and headed for the sink. 

He dimly registered the sound of the laundry room door closing behind him as he grabbed up a cloth. 

_Must have been on his way out, and good because…_

‘I…’ Said a small voice behind him. 

Thomas turned in surprise. Janek was there, and in his way again. He was standing between him and the door this time. 

‘Yes?’ Said Thomas over his shoulder, trying not to sound tetchy as he rubbed at the smattering of flour and buttery stickiness. 

‘I…’ Janek tried again. ‘I…’

‘Look I realise you probably need to talk right now, but I’m bloody late and I…’

Janek moved in closer. ‘Thomas…’

Having wiped the mess tolerably from his jacket shoulder and sleeve Thomas turned around. He found Janek standing even closer than before. 

‘Janek I…’ Thomas took a step back as he struggled back into his jacket. ‘…I think it best we keep to Mr Barrow, please. Now I know you’re probably needing to talk, and I’m happy to but not right…’

‘I…’ Janek stepped in, hand raised to chest height. 

Thomas shrank back away from his fingers. ‘No, no…no! I do _not_ have time to be wiping myself off again.’  

‘Thomas, please…’ Said Janek. ‘…stop moving for a minute, will you?’ 

‘Mr Barrow.’ Said Thomas firmly. ‘Patrick’s right nearby if you’re needing someone. We can talk later.’

Janek looked none too pleased by the suggestion. Crestfallen, even. 

‘Janek…’ Said Thomas with a small sigh, stilling himself for a moment. ‘…Patrick told me that he was…stupid once…’

_…Like I was…_

‘…but that’s a good friend you got there, go talk to him. I’ll…I’ll help if I can. There’s probably a few things I could talk you through that maybe no other bloke here can…’ Thomas side-stepped Janek, who turned but made no move to block his way. ‘…though I have to admit I haven’t exactly found my own way to happiness yet.’ Thomas added ruefully. 

‘Thomas…’ Janek’s voice had taken on a distinctly whiny edge and Thomas could see his fingers twitching at his sides as though he wanted to reach out again.  

Thomas didn’t bother to correct him on the name. Broken record and all that. ‘I am sorry for what I said before, alright?’ Said Thomas. ‘I see now that you’ve got some…things to be working on.’ He backed away to the door. Janek followed, a few steps away from him. ‘I’m sorry for what we did back there in the village, too. I wish it hadn’t happened.’ He could feel his cheeks growing hot, something in Janek’s eyes. ‘But I am around if you need to talk to me, there’s just no time now. Not much time ever, to be honest, but I will _make_ some time, I just have to…’

Thomas pulled the door open to escape. But there was something he needed to say.

‘Don’t be doing anything stupid to Lord Grantham.’ Thomas said gingerly, hand resting on the door. ‘He’s an idiot. And it was his fault but he didn’t mean it to happen. He doesn’t like to be thinking about how unstable this bloody house is, things falling apart every which way, alright?’

‘Alright.’ Janek said quietly.

As Thomas stepped through the door he ran into Patrick standing beside it. 

‘Oh, I…’ Patrick looked surprised to see him. ‘I was just standing here, like, to…um…’ He trailed off at the dark expression on Thomas’s face. ‘Right, I’ll…let you get on then.’ 

As Thomas moved away he spied Patrick disappearing into the laundry room. 

Thomas’s hand went unconsciously up to his shoulder, rubbing at the place Patrick had smeared. 

He stopped, looked back to the laundry room door, frowned, then continued on his way.


	52. Chapter 52

That afternoon Thomas heard three voices arguing in two different languages as he entered the servant’s hall.

Kris was sat at the table, pen in hand, surrounded by snowballs of crumpled paper. Janek stood to one side, leaning close into his shoulder. Patrick was stood to the other side, raking a hand through his hair. 

Kris was in the midst of saying something to Janek in Polish, while gesticulating wildly at the fresh pieces of paper in front of him.

‘You could ask about her health maybe…?’ Patrick cut in. 

‘ _Idiota_!’ Janek snapped back at him. ‘That’s what he…’ He jerked a hand to Kris. ‘…just said.’

Patrick’s mouth fell open. ‘ _HOW_ …’ He demanded. ‘… _HOW_ am _I_ supposed to know what _HE_ just said?’ He pointed angrily to Kris. 

‘Well I say you’re both wrong…’ Janek looked angrily at the two of them. ‘…why ask, she knows not to write me back?’

Kris, who had gotten part way through the sentence on the paper, crumpled up the sheet with a snarl and tossed it away. 

‘I don’t see why you have to write it anyway!’ Kris huffed, nursing a paper cut, clearly very much done with the present situation. ‘Just send it, ‘ _tu są pieniądze’, here is the money,_ and surely she will not ask why there is less?’

‘You could just say you got paid less?’ Patrick piped up hopefully, looking a little wary of Janek’s increasingly black mood. 

Janek’s chest bulged. ‘No! _Nie_! That is _no_ good. No lie!’

Thomas cleared his throat, and not just because Janek looked like he might murder the other two. 

They all glanced up, looking remarkably like children who’d been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. 

‘Oh…’ Kris reached his hand out into the air in a gesture of mock-begging. ‘…Mr Barrow please save me from these two _kretyni_!’ 

Janek looked angrily down at the top of his head. Patrick just dumped himself into the neighbouring seat and buried his face in his hands. 

‘What’s this then?’ Said Thomas, unable to keep a smile from his face at Kris’s comical expression of exhaustion. 

‘We are writing to his mother…’ Kris began to say. He was stopped by a sharp slap to the back of his head. ‘Eh!’ Kris turned and let loose a litany of incomprehensible words in Janek's general direction, none of which Thomas suspected were complimentary. 

‘All of you?’ Said Thomas with a frown. 

‘Yes!’ Patrick’s face re-appeared. ‘I usually just write the address, but then this one…’ He pointed to Janek who looked like he might slap him too. ‘…wanted something more, and I couldn’t write out what he was sounding out so…’ He tossed his head in Kris’s direction. 

Kris smirked. ‘Your try was funny.’ He said. 

‘Not my fault your bastard language doesn’t sound how it’s written!’ Patrick bit back. 

Thomas snorted at that. ‘Right, because Gallic is so logical…’ He said, before he could check himself. 

‘Fuck you!’ Patrick shouted in full Irish fury across the servant’s hall. 

Both Janek and Kris’s mouths twisted as they quickly looked down at the table. 

For a moment there was silence.

‘Excuse me?’ Said Thomas slowly, stepping further into the room. 

‘I meant that with love!’ Patrick quickly replied, on his feet and smiling weakly. ‘With love.’

Thomas looked about the room, and behind him. There was no one else about. 

‘Well no more swearing, or love, if you please.’ Thomas said.

Patrick nodded briskly and sat back down in his seat. ‘Sorry, Mr Barrow.’

Thomas gave a small nod in reply. 

‘So…’ He began gingerly, approaching the opposite side of the table. ‘…you’re going to be keeping some of your money then?’ He said to Janek. 

‘Might be.’ Janek replied with a nonchalant toss of his head. He didn’t look to be wanting to say more, but clearly couldn’t resist adding. ‘If this _kretyn_ can make himself useful…’ He leant dangerously close to Kris’s shoulder again. 

Kris responded by going to head-butt him and followed up the unsuccessful attempt with a barrage of curse words. Patrick’s face went back into his hands. 

Thomas only caught one in every three words from Kris’s extremely impressive repertoire, those he did catch were highly inventive even by his own standards.

Thomas decided he’d best leave them to it.


	53. Chapter 53

Thomas steeled himself before knocking on Janek’s door that night. 

‘Yes?’ Came the gruff reply. 

‘I…um…’ The handle of the bag in his hands caught on the door knob as he went to go in. It took him a few clumsy moments to extract himself. ‘I came to bring you this.’ Thomas said, sad to have had the surprise spoiled a little with his door-knob fumbling, but hoping the gift would have the desired effect all the same. 

Janek was sat by the table, shirt off but trousers still mercifully on. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s…’ Thomas frowned, closing the door behind him, still holding out the bag with one hand. ‘It’s a bag. You know, to celebrate you taking a little something for yourself. A gift.’

Now it was Janek’s turn to frown. ‘I don’t need that.’ He said with a shrug. 

‘No, I know you don’t need it. But it’ll make your life easier.’ Thomas offered, feeling thoroughly stupid to be standing there holding out the bag like a bouquet. ‘It’s what my cricket whites live in, but I hardly need it for myself. I change for the matches before I go down anyway and…’ He knew he was babbling, and blushed a little. ‘Take it, please?’

Janek shook his head. ‘I don’t need it.’

‘Please just take the damn bag.’ Said Thomas, losing a little more of his composure. 

‘I. Don’t. Need. It.’ Janek said firmly and turned back to the desk. The hand closest to Thomas went up to tug his hair back, the hand furthest from Thomas appeared at the top of his head. He was holding scissors. 

‘Wait!’ Thomas said, dropping the bag by the door. ‘What are you doing?’

Janek inclined his head to him with a dull look. ‘Painting a wall…what’s it look like?’

‘You…you’re cutting your hair.’ Said Thomas. ‘Why?’

‘Cause I need a haircut.’ Said Janek, still eyeing him as though he were a simpleton. 

‘Don’t do that!’ Thomas blurted out.

‘I’ve always cut my own hair.’ Janek said, inclining his head to look forward to the wall. 

 _No mirror_. Thomas noted. 

‘Yes, and it shows.’ Thomas retorted. 

Janek paid him no mind. The sound the scissors made as they opened turned his stomach. 

‘For God’s sake!’ Thomas darted forwards and risked losing a finger by making a grab for the scissors. ‘Let me, if you’re so hell bent.’

‘You know how?’ Janek was suddenly craning his head back to look up at him. 

‘Yes, I know how.’ 

Janek’s hold on the scissors loosened and Thomas eased them out of his grip. 

Janek’s head popped back up to look to the wall. 

‘So…’ Said Thomas, feeling even more absurd than he had before as he fished his comb out of his breast pocket. ‘…how did you want it?’

‘None of the side-sweep bullshit.’ Janek replied. 

Thomas was thankful there was no mirror. Otherwise Janek would have caught his murderous expression under his own perfectly styled side-swept hair. 

‘Right…’ Said Thomas, fighting the urge to hack away a decent chunk over his forehead by way of punishment. ‘So something parting in the middle….?’ He began to ask. 

Thomas reached to pull Janek’s hair back to part it with the comb. It slipped quickly and silkily through his fingers. ‘Have you…have you _washed_ your hair?’

‘Yes.’ Said Janek with a shrug. ‘Someone left some product in the bathroom.’

‘Alright then…’ Said Thomas, fighting the urge to bury his fingers in it again. ‘Here we go. Wait…’ He looked down at Janek’s bare shoulders. ‘…should I get a sheet or something?’

‘Why?’

Thomas snorted and raised the scissors. ‘Alright then.’ He said again, more firmly this time. 

He snipped away in silence, wincing each time soft brown strands fell on Janek’s shoulders. Not that Janek seemed to mind. 

Thomas had intended to make good on the promised chat when he’d come to Janek’s room that night, not that he’d fully admitted that to himself when he’d turfed his cricket gear out onto the bed. But now he was forced to really concentrate, and making conversation of a sensitive nature was well off the cards. 

Janek didn’t seem perturbed by the silence at all. Just sitting still for the most part, nothing but the odd inclining of his head when Thomas’s fingers tugged at his hair. 

Thomas had a feeling, though he couldn’t see it, that Janek’s eyes were closed. 

If he’d been doing anyone else’s hair he’d have cut it much shorter. But it seemed a shame to completely lose the way Janek’s hair swung about his head when he moved, so Thomas deliberately went for a length that was slightly more than proper at the top of his head. 

‘How’s that?’ Thomas said when he’d finished. Somewhat redundantly given the lack of a mirror. 

Janek’s hand came up to explore. ‘That feels nice.’ He said. Thomas could hear the smile in his voice. At the upwards inclined arm Thomas caught the scent of him, and it wasn’t half bad at that moment.  

‘Well…’ Thomas’s throat felt suddenly dry. ‘…well if you don’t like it when you get a look in the bathroom mirror you come find me.’ He said, setting the scissors down on the table. He recognised them, they’d belonged to Bates. No surprise really, given the man had probably been captivated by marital bliss at the time he’d cleared out his room. He wondered what else Janek had found in the drawers, but it didn’t seem proper to ask. 

Thomas moved away to the door. ‘I’ll just leave this here…’ He indicated towards the bag on the floor. 

‘No.’ Said Janek with a laugh as he swiped hair off his shoulders. ‘You take it.’ He spied Thomas hesitating. ‘I mean it, you take it. I don’t need it.’

Thomas sighed, sweeping to grab it up from the floor. ‘If you change your mind…’ But he didn’t bother to finish the sentence as he went to leave.

‘Goodnight Thomas.’ Janek called after him. 

‘Look…’ Thomas turned back. ‘…you really shouldn’t…’ He trailed off as Janek raised an eyebrow. ‘Alright…’ He sighed. ‘But only in private, alright?’

Janek nodded. ‘Only in private.’ He smiled. 

‘Right then…’ Thomas faltered. ‘Goodnight.’

He swung the door shut and walked down the thankfully empty corridor, fiddling with the straps of the rejected bag as he went. 


	54. Chapter 54

Thomas didn’t get to see his handiwork in daylight over the next couple of days. The builders had gone back to taking their meals on site or back at the cottage with the others. 

Alfred’s half-day was the Thursday, and Jimmy was off clearing the family lunch table that day, so Thomas found himself asked to take out the basket of sandwiches to site. 

Under normal circumstances he would have simply dumped the basket in the hands of the nearest hall boy and made a snarky retort to Mrs Patmore that he had better things to do. But he’d felt the absence of the builders in the servant’s hall keenly the past few days, and was oddly happy for an excuse to go and talk to them. 

 _Or some of them, at least…_ Thomas thought darkly to himself at the poor manners of several of the more glowery members of the bunch as their hands delved hungrily into the basket while it was still in his arms. 

Finally, Thomas managed to set the basket down on the lawn before a few of the more polite builders approached. 

‘Well met, Mr Barrow.’ Said Coyne warmly. ‘How are you?’

‘Oh, I’m…’ Thomas began to reply, trying not to make it too obvious that he was looking over Coyne’s shoulder for Janek. ‘I’m well, thank you Mr Coyne. How are you?’

‘Well, well…very well!’ Coyne replied brightly, clasping his sandwich tightly. 

He retreated to sit under the shade of the large oak tree with the others. 

‘Alright there, Mr Barrow!’ Patrick greeted as he and Tosh approached. 

‘Any good ones left?’ Said Tosh, eyeing the largely obliterated stock in the basket. 

‘If there’s none that you want I’ll get more.’ Thomas offered, trying not to make too big a thing of it. 

‘Oooooh!’ Tosh let out a happy growl. ‘This’ll do.’ He grabbed up a beef one that was leaking horseradish and was on his way. 

‘No Janek?’ Said Thomas, trying not to sound too concerned as Patrick bent low over the basket. 

‘No…’ Patrick’s voice was muffled by his first mouthful. ‘He’s up in the house with some of the others. Actually…’ He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘…wouldn’t mind going up and finding them would you? Let ‘em know food’s up?’ 

It said something about how much the builders had endeared themselves to Thomas that he didn’t balk at the suggestion. 

‘I will.’ He replied smartly, a little too eager for an excuse to hunt Janek down. 

As he re-entered the house he realised he really should have asked for some pointers on where precisely he should look. 

He wandered up through the downstairs and into the great hall. Having no luck on the ground floor he trotted up the stairs. 

He eyed the carpets as he went, half-seriously looking for evidence of the trampling of muddy boots. 

He made his way down as far as he dared to the guest room that had lost its wall and most of it’s floor, but again no luck. 

Huffing to himself, and wondering if Patrick had meant to play a joke on him, he went to trawl round the next corridor. 

He let out a happy sigh as he heard voices too coarse to belong to either the family or the staff. 

‘Gentlemen…’ He began as he rounded the corner. ‘…I’m to let you know that…’

He stopped. 

There they were alright, but they weren’t ‘builders’ per se. No, if the hole in the wall and exposed wiring was anything to go by these men were the electricians. And there was Janek, or at least a man who looked very much like him. Only he was wearing new clothes, functional clothes, but smart in their cleanliness nonetheless. He even had a belt. And he had his hand up in the hole in the wall. 

Thomas’s brain couldn’t unpick which aspect of the scene before him was more alarming.

‘Yes?’ One of the men knelt on the floor asked.

‘Lunch on the lawn.’ Thomas managed to get out. 

‘Ah, nice!’ The man got up and motioned for the others to do the same. 

Janek rose too. 

Thomas blinked. No, his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Under the nicely trimmed hair (which, yes, Thomas could now flatter himself was a job well done) there was a new shirt and new trousers. And Dear Lord a belt. The clothes were still workman’s clothes, no doubt. But nice enough to feature in one of those photographs of gentleman explorers rather than the sort to be found lolling around the local doss house. Janek looked…smart. 

And he had his hands on the wiring…

‘You…’ Thomas stepped in front of Janek to bar his way. ‘…you lay bricks.’ He whispered. 

‘I do.’ Said Janek, leaning towards him to mock the secrecy. ‘Now I do wires and all.’ He said with a smirk.

‘But…’ Thomas hissed as Janek went to move past him. ‘You…’

But Janek was gone. 

Thomas took a moment to hyperventilate in the corridor before approaching the hole in the wall. 

_Oh God, what’s he done…?_

Thomas peered in, afraid to touch anything, and cursed his own lack of electrical knowledge. He couldn’t see anything amiss. But how would he know? It was a spaghetti junction in the wall and Thomas hadn’t the foggiest how to decode it and see if everything was as it should be. 

That night Thomas knocked on Tosh and Patrick’s door. 

‘Mr Barrow?’ Patrick’s confused face greeted him as he opened the door. 

‘Can I come in?’ Thomas said urgently, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Janek’s door was still closed. 

Patrick nodded and stepped back. 

Tosh was already under the covers, but sat up as Thomas entered. 

‘Right…’ Thomas said, feeling a little of the panic of earlier that day rising up again. ‘Right I need you two to explain something to me…’

‘Yes?’ Said Patrick, sitting back against his bed. 

‘Why…’ Thomas gave up trying to hide his unease, hand shaking in front of him as he spoke. ‘…was Janek with the electricians?’

‘That’s easy…’ Said Tosh, splaying his hands over the covers at his knees. ‘…he said he wanted to.’

‘He…?’ Thomas was now ready to enter total panic. 

‘That’s right.’ Said Patrick with a shrug. ‘He went to Coyne day before last and said he wanted to be learning some electrics. And they needed an extra man so…’ He shrugged again, arms crossed over his chest. ‘Are you quite alright there, Mr Barrow?’

‘I’m…I’m…’ Thomas forced himself to take a few deep breaths before continuing. ‘…a little concerned.’

_Understatement..._

Patrick frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Well…why’s Janek doing it?’ Thomas peered at both their faces. ‘What’s he got planned? What’s he going to do?’

Patrick and Tosh exchanged a glance. 

‘I don’t think it’s for us to speak for him.’ Patrick said carefully. ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

‘Because if he’s planning something I don’t think he’d be telling me.’ Thomas said. ‘Please, has he said anything to you? And don’t be lying to me!’ He added quickly as Patrick went to speak. 

Patrick held his hands up. ‘He’s just learning electrics, far as I know.’

‘Tosh?’ Thomas turned his gaze on the man huddle up in bed. 

‘Same.’ Tosh replied quickly, eyes wide. 

Thomas bit his lip. ‘If I find out you’ve kept something from me…’ 

‘We wouldn’t lie to you, Mr Barrow.’ Said Patrick. 

His face was honest, but the twisting in Thomas’s gut continued. 

‘Alright.’ Said Thomas with a sigh.

He laid awake for some time that night before being able to sleep.


	55. Chapter 55

A couple more days later and Thomas was certain that Janek, Tosh and Patrick were avoiding him. 

They had taken the odd meal in the servant’s hall, alongside the other builders living in the Abbey, but they didn’t speak to him. Or at least, they replied cordially enough to ‘Good morning’ greetings but didn’t offer anything further by way of conversation. 

Otherwise they breezed past him in the corridor as though he weren’t there. Tosh, who was clearly less self-assured than the other two, often shot Thomas a somewhat uncomfortable look as he did.

Thomas had a distinct feeling it had to do with his questioning them about Janek’s newly acquired electrical aspirations, and that did nothing to settle his nerves. 

Carson’s reaction to Janek’s freshly polished appearance was one of comical disbelief. That made Thomas smile a little, but he hoped his own facial expression had been more measured when he’d first seen Janek in his new clothes.

Thomas didn’t find Janek, Tosh and Patrick in the servant’s hall of an evening, though he did once catch all three of their voices through one of the doors on the attic corridor one night. 

The only builder who lingered in the servant’s hall was Kris, but he was usually there when O’Brien was, and Thomas had no intention of getting in the middle of whatever was happening (or attempting to happen) there. 

On the plus side both Jimmy and Alfred were more inclined to speak with him those days, so at least a little conversation could be had while working in the rooms upstairs once the family had absented themselves. 

Thomas’s paranoia about Janek getting his hands on the electrics refused to go away. And he eyed every light fitting or exposed wire he came across with suspicion as he moved about the house. 

But the lurking feeling of unease was nothing compared to the fresh panic that struck him in the great hall, on route to deliver Lord Grantham’s tea and letters, when he heard Janek’s voice in the library.

‘…well which one would you recommend?’ Janek’s voice sounded much more well-spoken and deferential than usual. 

‘I suppose if you’d be interested in the history, then…’

_Oh…oh no…_

That was Lord Grantham.

Lord Grantham was there. With Janek. In the library. He was taking to Janek. In the library. 

Thomas stopped in his tracks, torn completely between racing forwards with the tray to halt whatever was happening or lingering outside to listen.

‘…this one gives good account of the ship builders in the seventeenth century.’ Thomas heard Lord Grantham’s voice offer, sounding a little tentative at offering quite such heavy reading to a tradesman. 

_Oh you have no idea…_

‘That sounds good.’ Janek’s voice replied, cheerful and clear. ‘We moved to Liverpool when I was a child you see. I grew up around the ships there.’

‘How marvellous…’ Lord Grantham sounded pleased. 

Thomas’s gut gave a twist. 

He couldn’t wait any longer. The urge to rescue Lord Grantham from whatever Janek had planned, not to mention to save Janek from himself, overrode his wish to hide in the great hall and avoid trouble.

‘Now we’ll just put your name here…’ Lord Grantham had moved over to the lectern by the shelves as Thomas entered with the tray. ‘…Mr?’

Janek cleared his throat. ‘Biel…Janek Biel, M’Lord.’

Janek shot Thomas a look that was far too amused for Thomas’s liking, large leather bound book under his arm, as Lord Grantham went to write his name into the library record. 

‘I think I have it right…’ Lord Grantham withdrew from the lectern. 

Janek stepped forward to peer at the paper. ‘That’ll do.’ He said brightly. 

Thomas’s world turned upside down at the sight of Lord Grantham and Janek actually smiling at one another. He very nearly spilt the tea he was pouring. 

‘Your morning refreshment, My Lord.’ Thomas said briskly, as Janek turned to leave. ‘And your correspondence.’

‘Wonderful…’ Robert turned and made his way to the desk. ‘…that’ll be all Barrow.’

Thomas dashed out of the library as fast as he could without making it obvious and caught up to Janek down the far end of the hall. 

‘What are you playing at?’ Thomas hissed quietly. 

Janek turned to him, book now clutched to his chest behind crossed arms. ‘I don’t take your meaning…’ He glanced up, saw a maid dusting the staircase, and concluded. ‘…Mr Barrow.’ He smirked. 

‘Going to read that are you?’ Thomas prodded the cover of the book in Janek’s arms. 

Janek leaned close to whisper, smirk still in place. ‘You know I can’t read.’

‘I know, so why are you…?’

‘You’ll see.’ Said Janek simply. 

Thomas bristled at that. ‘Maybe I don’t want to be waiting to see.’ He whispered back. ‘Maybe you need to stop whatever silliness you’ve got planned.’

Janek simply stood there, continuing to smirk, seeming thoroughly amused by Thomas’s discomfort. 

‘The electrics then…’ Thomas continued, voice rapid and low and more than a little hysterical. ‘…what are you planning there? You going to blow us up, set a fire, what? ‘Cause you know when I said the house was falling down that wasn’t an invitation to you to help it along…however much you’ve got problems with His Lordship.’

Janek simply smiled, took a breath, tightened his hold on the book and said. ‘Wait.’

_You infuriating…_

Janek went to walk away. Thomas watched him go, feeling lost and utterly frazzled. 

‘Oh, you’ll be happy to know…’ Janek paused and briefly turned back. ‘…the lights’ll be back on tomorrow.’ 

He left. And Thomas stood looking after him feeling like he had the weight of an entire elephant crushing his chest.


	56. Chapter 56

Thomas and the rest of the downstairs-and-construction-worker household were tucking into bread and eggs when there was an almighty crash from the kitchens. It was followed by two screams and Mrs Patmore’s wailing sounding down the corridor.

Carson and Thomas were on their feet in an instant, Carson waving briskly to the others to stay seated. 

Mrs Patmore was standing with Daisy and Ivy in the corner of the kitchen, staring in shock at the large wooden table that had fallen sideways, spilling a mess of half-prepared food, broken utensils and fine china. 

‘Oh Mr Carson, Mr Carson, I don’t know what’s…’ Mrs Patmore said frantically as he and Thomas appeared. 

Carson was too busy staring with wide eyes at the shattered china to respond. 

Thomas, for his part, ducked down to look at the table. One of the legs had gone, the same one that had been ‘fixed’ twice in 1912, and a second had buckled and splintered away from the top of the table as it fell. 

‘It’s alright…’ Thomas said, heaving himself up to standing. ‘It’s alright.’ He said again, nodding to the three traumatised women. ‘We’ve a hall half-full of tradesmen down there…’ He pointed over his shoulder. ‘…and we’ve more china…’ He said pointedly to Carson who looked like he was having a private coronary and paying no attention to the others. ‘…and I’ll send a boy to the village if…’ Thomas looked down at the mess on the floor. ‘…if you’re needing any more stock. Right?’

Thomas had a feeling Mrs Patmore hadn’t understood a word he’d said, but she responded to the calmness of his voice with a nod, clutching her handkerchief to her breast with nervous fingers. 

‘Just…’ Thomas backed away. ‘…start getting these bits off the floor, yes?’ He turned and ran back to the servant’s hall. 

‘Right…’ He said as he entered, looking down the far end of the table to the builders. ‘…any of you in the market to lend us a hand with a table?’ He spoke as breezily as possible by way of calming the shocked and curious eyes of the seated staff. 

Janek was immediately on his feet without a word. Patrick and Tosh rose to follow him, but not before clamping hands on the arms and shoulders of the men seated next to them to keep them in their seats. 

‘Thank you…’ Said Thomas unsteadily, blinking rapidly, stepping back to let them through. 

The women were crouched about the broken table, shunting broken bits of china and utensils into buckets. They were working fast, and with far too little regard for their hands. 

‘Step back there ladies…step back…’ In a moment Tosh and Patrick had pushed past a still catatonic Carson and directed Mrs Patmore, Daisy and Ivy to go and stand over by the sinks. 

Tosh and Patrick used their feet to begin to assemble the pieces of food and crockery into a pile by the side of the room. Janek immediately ducked down to his knees by the table. 

‘Well this was a poor job…’ Janek’s voice sounded from behind the table top. 

Thomas was stood by Carson, wondering if he ought to offer a steadying hand. But as the mess on the floor began to be swept away Carson seemed to come back to himself. 

Janek’s head popped up, he leaned an elbow over the wood. 

‘A…a poor job?’ Carson attempted sternness but his voice was still shaky. 

‘Whoever fixed this before.’ Janek replied. ‘But don’t worry, I can get it sorted.’ He smiled over to the women by the sink who all immediately relaxed as though a refreshing breeze had just blown through the kitchens. 

‘What do you need?’ Tosh left Patrick to clear the floor and stood awaiting instruction. 

‘Just go grab me some screws and a driver, and some of them little chocks of wood from the discard pile, will you?’

Tosh nodded and vanished.

‘Well it…’ Carson began. ‘…it would seem things are in hand. Mrs Patmore…’ He said as though seeing her for the first time. ‘…are you quite alright?’

‘Oh, quite alright, Mr Carson.’ She replied, head inclined to watch what was going on under the table. 

Thomas imagined it was a rather fine view. 

‘Right, well then…thank you gentlemen.’ Carson said briskly. ‘Mr Barrow perhaps you could attend to finding the Queen Anne tea set?’

Thomas nodded quickly and departed. 

The family breakfast was served a full three minutes late. Which to Carson was a tragedy, and to the family went completely unnoticed. 

The china, however, was noticed. Robert complimented the switch, recalling how this particular set had been used while he was still a child. 

Thomas saw Carson wrestling internally with whether or not to admit the reason, but of course propriety won out in the end. 

‘I’m afraid My Lord there was an incident in the kitchens this morning.’ He said gravely. ‘The previous set, I am sorry to report, was a casualty of that incident.’

‘Nothing serious I hope?’ Matthew piped up while Robert’s mouth was still full. 

‘A broken leg on the kitchen table.’ Carson replied with a slight bow. ‘One of the building tradesmen has attended to it.’

‘Well that’s good.’ Robert said. ‘We must see he is compensated appropriately.’ He added pointedly before turning back to his breakfast with a sigh. 

Thomas could guess his thoughts. But Matthew put them into words all the same.

‘Seems like the whole house wants to fall apart of late.’ Matthew spoke brightly, clearly not quite comprehending the depths of sadness Lord Grantham felt at the prospect. 

‘It’s the price for maintaining history…’ Said Thomas from behind the table before Lord Grantham’s shoulders could sink any lower, speaking out of turn for perhaps the first time in his long service. ‘…and we must all of us seek to rise to the challenge.’

Carson stared at him, part disbelief, part dark warning. 

 _Yes, yes, I know, seen not heard._ Thomas replied in his mind. 

‘Well said, Mr Barrow.’ Said Robert with a nod. ‘Well said.’

Thomas saw Carson visibly relax beside him. 

‘Oh, Mr Carson, might we have the staff assembled in the great hall at a quarter to twelve please?’

‘Certainly, My Lord.’ Carson replied smartly. 

There was much excitable whispering as the staff filtered into the hall that morning, all brushed up as smartly as possible. Jimmy and Alfred were directed to stand away from the others, by the front doors. 

The family were all there too, standing in line by the fireplace. 

‘Now as some of you will recall…’ Lord Grantham’s voice immediately brought silence to the room. ‘…there was a time when all business at Downton was conducted by candlelight.’ That drew nervous laughs from the family, and a few from the more bold staff. ‘But ten years ago, electricity came to Downton.’ Lord Grantham said grandly. ‘I am happy to report to you today, that Downton will once again be joining the modern age.’ 

A happy gasp went up around the room. 

Lord Grantham drew away from his place in the line, drawing his watch out of his pocket as he did. 

He approached the light switch by the fire. 

Thomas watched, feeling a dread settle in the pit of his stomach, his muscles tensed uncomfortably under his uniform. 

Lord Grantham regarded his watch for a minute more, then reached to flick the switch. 

Thomas flinched and closed his eyes. 

He opened them again at the sound of cheering all around. 

It was daylight, so the light thrown by the bulbs in the great hall was barely perceptible, but those assembled were celebrating as though a light had been thrown on the darkest of winters. 

Thomas let out a shaky breath, letting his shoulders come down from about his ears. 

There was a knock at the front doors. 

Jimmy and Alfred pulled them open to reveal the electricians, two with tool boxes in hands. 

‘Come, come…’ Lord Grantham indicated for them to step into the hall. ‘Now I thought we might…’ Thomas saw the moment that Lord Grantham recognised Janek among the group, and saw the resulting surprised smile. ‘…show these gentlemen our appreciation for their fine work.’

Lord Grantham brought his hands together and a moment later the hall rang with applause. 

‘I trust you will also convey our thanks to your colleagues outside…’ Lord Grantham said to the men over the sound of clapping. ‘…I understand their work is nearly at an end also.’

The electrician nearest to Lord Grantham, tool box in hand, nodded smartly. ‘Aye, we’ll all be cleared out in a few days.’

Most of those in the hall wouldn’t have heard the exchange, but Thomas was close enough to take in every word. 

The clapping of his hands slowed then stopped.


	57. Chapter 57

The news of the impending departure of the builders affected Thomas more than it should. Not that he could talk to any of them about it. He never found himself in a room alone with them nowadays and when there were others present somehow he never managed to insert himself into the conversation.  

He couldn’t go to their rooms either. Partly because it looked like they were trying to unsubtly deliver the message he was unwelcome, and partly because Thomas still felt a little lingering embarrassment about accusing Janek of trying to blow up the house. Thomas winced to himself every time he thought of that. 

But he had been fully justified in his fears, he reassured himself. He wouldn’t put anything past Janek, and he still watched the lights and switches closely for signs of danger. 

Then there was the mystery of the book. Each day Thomas expected to find the expensive historical tome ripped up somewhere on display by way of ‘Fuck you’ to Lord Grantham. But no, in fact the book had even been returned to the book shelf. The date it was returned was written (in Patrick’s handwriting) next to Janek’s name on the lectern. 

Thomas took the book down from the shelf and leafed through it as inconspicuously as possible while making his morning rounds. There was nothing wrong with it. Not even a dog-eared page or the smudge of the rim of a mug, at least not one that had been made in the last century. 

Thomas pushed the book back into place, nostrils flaring as he tried to puzzle it out. 

He came up with nothing. 

With a sigh he returned to his task of putting the library to rights. The family had a habit of taking books down of an evening and then leaving them in all manner of strange places. And never back on the damn shelf. 

Thomas was on his knees peering under the sofas when Lord Grantham entered with a bubbly Mr Coyne in tow. 

Thomas quickly stood up to make his presence known, but Lord Grantham simply motioned for him to carry on as he settled himself down at his desk. 

‘Now then, Mr Coyne…’ He said. ‘…what have you to report?’

‘Well My Lord…’ Coyne began, sounding pleased as punch. 

Thomas busied himself with collecting up the books by the windowsill, inspecting them for condensation and gently wiping it away with his handkerchief when found. 

‘…we are done! Well, nearly done.’ Coyne quickly qualified. ‘Tower’s coming down as we speak and most of the lads will be on their way this afternoon.’

‘That is very good news.’ Lord Grantham replied.

‘My three lads will be staying on a couple of days, if it please you…’ 

Thomas wondered if Coyne had gotten that particular simpering phrase from a book.

‘…to varnish the floor and put up the wall paper in the guest room.’

Thomas could see Lord Grantham tense as he sighed. ‘Well if there is a little more to be done, so be it.’ He said as cordially as he could.

_Oh, very magnanimous…_

Thomas realised he was staring and quickly moved to re-shelve the books in his arms.   

‘If you please, My Lord, some of the lads were talking the other day…’

‘Yes.’ Said Lord Grantham gently, though Thomas knew him well enough to register the hint of impatience in his voice. 

‘…well they made an observation, like. And I thought it was a good one, so I thought I might…?’

‘Yes?’ Lord Grantham repeated, his mood starting to show in his voice. 

Thomas could put it off no longer. Loath as he was to be back down on the floor with Lord Grantham plus guest in the room, there were a couple of books he’d spied under the sofa that needed retrieving. 

‘It’s like this you see…’ Said Coyne. ‘…there’s a lot of things round here that need some attention, I hope you won’t mind my saying. I saw there was water down the walls after the rains, and well…you could stand to repair a few roof tiles…I mean, not you personally, I just…’ 

Thomas got down to his knees, feeling intense second-hand awkwardness on Coyne’s behalf.

‘I have no plans at present…’ Lord Grantham said levelly. ‘…to replace the roof…’

_‘Cause you can’t afford it…_

‘…but I assure you that Smith and Sons will be considered for the work should the need arise. Now if that is all?’

Thomas’s belly touched the rug as he reached for the books; arm, shoulder and head disappearing under the sofa. 

‘No, I…I don’t mean like that My Lord.’ Coyne quickly began to explain. ‘What I meant was perhaps it might be the thing to take on a man to do maintenance here? You know, keep some of them big jobs at bay while you can?’

Thomas lay stock still, arm outstretched. 

The silence either meant Lord Grantham was summoning the anger to reproach Coyne for his impertinence, or that he was genuinely considering it. 

‘Did you have someone from the current crew in mind?’ Said Lord Grantham.

‘It…it could be someone from my team.’ Coyne replied. ‘I mean, if you’d have any of them?’

Lord Grantham gave a soft hmpfh which spoke volumes about his opinion of the men who’d been stomping and swearing about the Abbey for the past month. 

‘Actually…’ Lord Grantham said suddenly. ‘…there was one…’ 

Under the sofa Thomas could no longer hear his own heartbeat. 

‘…smart young man, bright thing, that I met the other day. A Liverpudlian lad. But I think he was with the electricians rather than your crew…?’

‘Oh, you must mean Janek?’ Coyne sounded a little confused by Lord Grantham’s description of him, but he persevered. ‘No, no, he is part of my crew. Builder by trade. He just took it on himself to get some learning in with the electrics because the sparkys needed a bit of a hand. So I suppose he’d know his way round the wires as well as the more structural bits…’

Lord Grantham replied in thinly veiled wonder. ‘Why, that’s perfect.’

Thomas’s head connected with the underside of the sofa.

‘Ah! Fu…Bol…’ 

_Bollocks, bollocks, BOLLOCKS!!!!_

‘…Ow.’ Thomas concluded feebly as he eased himself out from under the sofa. 

‘Are you alright there, Mr Barrow?’ Lord Grantham called over.

Thomas stood, rubbing at the back of his head, glad to have the excuse of a near concussion to explain away the redness of his face. 

‘I’m alright.’ He offered, lips drawn back across his teeth to hiss at the pain in his head. ‘Perfectly sound, I apologise…’ He hissed again. ‘…for the interruption.’

Lord Grantham nodded and turned back to Coyne. ‘Do you think Janek would be interested in a position here?’

Coyne gave a small shrug before quickly remembering who he was speaking to. ‘I’m sure he’s looking to get on in the world, like all the lads.’ He replied. 

‘Mr Barrow would you run and fetch Mr Carson?’ Lord Grantham called. 

‘Right away…’ Thomas replied weakly, dropping his hand to his side. ‘…Right away, My Lord.’

Oh he could _definitely_ hear his heartbeat now.


	58. Chapter 58

Thomas slipped down the last few steps and landed hard on his backside. 

‘Fuck!’ He shouted. 

He spied a nearby maid jump half out of her skin and quickly apologised, profusely. 

_[What’s gotten into you?]_

_Shut up...please._

He hurried down the corridor to Carson’s and flung open the door without remembering to knock. 

‘Mr Carson!’ He said. ‘His Lordship needs you!’

‘Good Lord…’ Carson stared at the state of Thomas from behind the desk. ‘…what’s happened?’

‘Oh…’ Thomas quickly swiped the hair back from his eyes and tried to get his breathing under control. ‘Oh, me? No. No this is…’ He indicated about his general person with a quick sweep of his hand. ‘…this is something different. But…Please, will you come?’

Carson nodded stiffly and quickly rose, indicating for Thomas to lead the way. 

The prospect of taking the stairs again had Thomas feeling like he might be sick on his shoes, but he managed to pull himself together for the climb.

Shaking, Thomas led the way into the library.

Neither Coyne nor Lord Grantham had moved from their previous positions.

‘My Lord.’ Carson bowed smartly as he entered. Thomas managed a little bob of his head beside him.

‘Mr Carson…’ Lord Grantham smiled. ‘…Mr Barrow…’ His smile faltered a little at Thomas’s slightly bedraggled state. ‘…I should like to discuss with you the prospect of a new hire.’

Thomas saw that Carson was pleased with the announcement, no doubt anticipating the provision of a much needed maid, footman or hall boy.

 _Wait for it…_ Thomas’s mind dully offered beside him.

‘It is my intention…’ Lord Grantham continued, of course making no mention of the fact he was making the suggestion under advisement of the pudgy man shifting awkwardly from foot to foot beside him. ‘…to contract a full time maintenance man for the Abbey.’ He tented his hands on the desk in front of him. ‘I intend to offer the position to one of Mr Coyne’s workers, a Janek Biel.’

Thomas hadn’t thought Carson’s eyes could go that wide. 

‘Well I…’ Carson fumbled for words, realising Lord Grantham was inviting his input (or praise) with his silence. ‘…I cannot deny he has proved himself useful in the household.’

Thomas suppressed a smile in spite of his uncomfortably thundering pulse.

He could only imagine the current machinations in Carson’s mind; no doubt weighing up a speedily fixed table against the other thing he’d seen Janek doing with his hands. 

‘But…?’ Lord Grantham peered at Carson’s discomfort. 

Carson shot a quick glance in Thomas’s direction. The glance silently communicated that Carson fully understood Thomas’s distressed state at the current development. 

_Don’t think you do, Mr Carson…_

‘Well, My Lord…’ Carson respectfully bobbed his head again. ‘I cannot deny the man’s skill, I would only state that it is my judgement that he is…unsuitable for the communal living environment of Downton.’

‘Who is in Bate’s old room?’ Lord Grantham answered smoothly. ‘Surely he could take that with no inconvenience to anyone?’ 

Thomas could see they were entering dangerous territory now. It was one thing for Carson to ‘debate’ with Lord Grantham in private, quite another to do it with Coyne and himself present. 

For the first and perhaps only time in his long service, Carson opted to deliberately lie by omission by declining to admit to Lord Grantham that Janek was _already_ set up in Bate’s room.

‘It’s a matter of cleanliness, My Lord.’ Said Carson. 

Thomas saw Coyne bristling a little at that. 

‘I don’t mean to cast aspersions.’ Carson continued. ‘Only to suggest that someone engaged in potentially dirty tradesman’s work might be best housed away from the rest of the staff. It has been a struggle, My Lord, to be sharing close quarters with the builders this past month.’

Thomas was impressed at the speed with which Carson came up with the explanation. Though he would have given _very_ good money to hear Carson tell Lord Grantham the real reason he didn’t want Janek housed within ear-shot.

‘You make a fair point…’ Lord Grantham conceded. ‘And I thank you for your patience while works have been underway.’

Coyne was looking very put-out beside him, but quickly re-set his face as Lord Grantham turned to him. 

‘Mr Coyne informs me that the crew currently residing in one of the cottages will be on their way today.’ Said Lord Grantham. Coyne nodded briskly. ‘You may instruct Janek he is to take up residence there…’ He held out a slip of paper to Carson, on it was written terms and a number that was none too shabby. ‘…if he accepts the offer of employment.’

‘Yes, My Lord.’ Carson replied, taking the slip of paper delicately.

Thomas followed Carson out of the library like a ghost. 

‘Well this is a fine to do, isn’t it?’ Carson snapped as soon as they were safe downstairs.

Thomas nodded weakly beside him. 

‘They’re all loading up the carts out back.’ Carson said gruffly. ‘You’d best go fetch the man.’

Thomas nodded again. 

His footsteps echoed as he traipsed slowly down the corridor. 

He pushed the door open, blinking in the sunlight. 

The sounds of hustle and bustle to the side of the house were loud, but Thomas barely heard them. 

He walked slowly up to the familiar broad-shouldered back. 

‘Mr Carson wants to see you.’ He choked out. 

Janek turned, smiled, and went away without a word. 

Thomas flopped back to sit on the nearest wooden box. The two men either side of it, holding the handles ready to load it, frowned and stared at him for a moment before leaving him and the box be. 

 _In and out, in and out…_ A voice instructed Thomas as he breathed deeply, staring ahead. 

He caught sight of Tosh and Patrick over by the carts, looking over to where Janek had gone. They turned to one another, whispering excitedly. 

_In and out, in and out…_


	59. Chapter 59

As promised the building tower was gone. It had been pulled down and packed up by midday. In its wake it left a strange checkerboard of stone slabs, some fresh, some salvaged, up the wall. The effect was odd. But the Abbey was at last whole again. 

The builders had said their goodbyes amongst themselves, leaving behind the original crew, minus one member still sorely missed. And those remaining had taken their places at the far end of the table in the servant’s hall for lunch. 

The dazed feeling that had left Thomas sitting on a wooden box outside until the departing men finally turfed him off of it remained settled over him like a cloud. 

He was having a wee bit of trouble processing the morning’s events, to say the least. He was nigh on certain that Janek would refuse the job. In his short time there, Janek had managed to mock and deride just about every aspect of life in the house through his actions or words. 

But then, as Thomas recalled the conversation in the library that morning, the sequence of events that had led to Janek being offered the position seemed to line up just a little too well for chance. 

But _then_ , Thomas checked himself, no one could have planned it all so perfectly. No one, he was sure of it. And in so little time. All those little threads, tugging together at the end? It seemed laughable to even think it. 

However if Janek _hadn’t_ planned it, then he wouldn’t take the job, would he? Because Janek hated the house, Thomas was sure. And it would mean his ‘brothers’ moving on without him. Janek wouldn’t accept that, would he?

Thomas was torn. Extremely torn. Because he couldn’t quite fathom, in the depths of his foggy mind, if he was hoping the whole thing had been a series of accidental occurrences or not. 

On the one hand there was a master manipulator, angling into a job he didn’t want for reasons unknown. 

On the other, there was an intriguing man and his kind friends who would soon be leaving the Abbey for good. 

And gleaming cream-coloured bricks amidst those weathered by centuries of rain as a reminder. 

Thomas stared down at the plate in front of him and barely remembered to rise when Carson entered.

‘Quick announcement before we begin…’ Carson motioned for everyone to sit and did likewise. ‘I am to announce…’ 

Thomas dimly noted Carson didn’t say he was ‘ _happy_ ’ to announce. 

‘…that Mr Janek Biel…’ Carson indicated down the table. ‘…will be joining our full-time staff in the capacity of maintenance overseer of Downton.’ Carson paused before adding, for the benefit of his own nerves. ‘He will be taking up residence in the old crofter’s cottage.’

The announcement was met with whoops from the builders, bewildered looks from most of the staff, and a small spattering of applause from Jimmy and Alfred. 

Janek briefly rose from his seat to shake the hand of Coyne sitting opposite. 

‘Hey, you two…’ Janek called down the table to Jimmy and Alfred. ‘…you’d best be ready to help me move in there this afternoon. This lot here’ll be busy upstairs with the varnish in the guest room.’

Jimmy and Alfred looked to Carson eagerly. 

Carson took a deep breath and gave a small nod. ‘If…’ He qualified, looking sternly down the table to Janek. ‘…duties allow.’ 

Janek nodded with a smile just the proper side of smirk and gave a small bow. 

He raised his head. ‘You too Mr Barrow.’ 

Thomas was stirred as though out of a deep sleep. 

He looked down the table with a look that Carson clearly assumed was disdain (and nodded approvingly in response) which was in fact the closest to normal Thomas could get his face; his emotions at that moment hovering somewhere between the whooping of the builders and the urge to run screaming from the hall. 

‘If there’s time.’ Thomas offered levelly. 

Carson nodded again in approval as Thomas turned his attention back to his plate. 


	60. Chapter 60

Thomas left the Abbey as inconspicuously as possible at a little after four in the afternoon. He’d changed out of his uniform into one of his personal suits, not so much because he was planning on doing any heavy lifting but more because he didn’t trust the state that the previous occupants had left the house in. 

His shoes crunched on the gravel path as he walked. 

He carried no gift. Damned if he was going to be left holding a rejected gift again. 

_But then…_

Thomas stopped in his tracks. 

_Why would Janek accept a bag for travelling if he knew he’d be staying?_

‘Son of a bitch…’ Thomas murmured to himself and continued on his way. 

The tiny hamlet of cottages came into view as he crested the hill. The gravel was worn away here, leaving him stepping on packed earth as he made his way down. 

It was an idyllic view in the low afternoon light. A dozen cottages, pathways running between them, and the remnants of old stone walls demarcating abandoned sheep pens with the forest beyond. 

Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked this walk. Maybe never. 

But his old jealousy of the Bates’s, taking this stroll every night by moonlight with lights up in the little cottages ahead, was suddenly strong again in his breast. 

Thomas shook his head and continued on. The gravel covering the path was thick again at the bottom of the hill, and the sound of the crunching soothed him. 

Of course he had yet to address the pressing question of precisely why he was going to the cottage. 

He had hoped a tolerable answer would occur to him once he’d started walking. 

No such luck. 

A couple of times he’d fumbled with the thought that he was simply intending to speak with Janek about how he should conduct himself and his business at the Abbey. To make sure Janek didn’t go making any mistakes. 

But there was no reason, really, that he should impose on his private residence to do it. 

Even Carson didn’t come into their rooms on the attic corridor except under circumstances of great import. 

_Such as the thumps of a bloke rubbing one out after dark…_

Thomas shook his head again, blushing furiously. 

‘Christ…’ He whispered, wondering if he should just head back to the Abbey.

 But his feet kept going.

The door to the cottage was open as he approached. He could hear rattling and shouts beyond. 

And was that…? Yes, that was Jimmy attempting to sing. 

Thomas entered the small downstairs living room, there were a few kitchen units and a small stove at the far end. In between there and the door, all was chaos. 

The rattling, he realised, was from the poker, tongs and coal shovel from the fireplace. Evidently they had been thrown in Jimmy’s direction by Alfred and Janek by way of ‘payment’ for the song. 

Janek and Alfred had crouched down behind the old sofa as Jimmy went to pick up the tongs to send them back. 

‘Working hard, I see?’ Said Thomas. 

‘Oh, Mr Barrow…’ Jimmy looked guiltily at the tongs in his hand. ‘…I was just…putting these back.’

‘Mmmm hmmm?’ Thomas couldn’t suppress a laugh. Jimmy joined in too, looking intensely relieved. 

‘Hallo there, Mr Barrow.’ Alfred’s head emerged from behind the sofa. 

Janek’s popped up beside him. He smiled but said nothing. 

‘I see you’re…’ Thomas looked around the piles of debris from the previous tenants around the floor. ‘…settling in alright.’

Janek stood up. ‘I am.’ He said. 

To be fair, the kitchen space did look like it had had a wipe down, and there were three sacks of rubbish by the side of the front door ready to go out. 

‘Well…’ Thomas clasped his hands in front of him. ‘…what can I do to help?’

‘Ah…well, you could…’ Janek’s head turned this way and that, scanning for a task. 

Thomas raised his eyebrows. He could name a dozen things that needed attending to, most to do with the state of the floor.

‘You could…’ Janek tried again. 

_You asked me to come all the way over here, and now you’ve got nothing for me to do?_

Thomas was nervous enough being there at all. The prospect of standing there like a fool with no job to do was too much.

‘Christ…’ Said Thomas, more tetchily than planned. ‘…if you need me to work on the floor, I can work on the floor. That’s why I wore these…’ He plucked at the fabric of his suit trousers, having worn that particular pair on purpose as there were already small scuffs at the knee and a repaired rip at one hem. 

‘No, no you don’t need to…’ Janek said quickly, looking fairly alarmed by the prospect. ‘You could…um…’

‘I could what?’ Thomas prompted snarkily. ‘Got a feather duster hiding somewhere so I can prance about on me toes getting up into the ceiling?’

‘No, but I think I know where the broom handle is…’ Said Janek with a thin smile.

‘Oh, um…’ Thomas heard Jimmy’s voice from behind him. 

_Shit, forgot you were here._

_Forgot BOTH of you were here._

From the look on Janek’s face, he’d forgotten too. 

‘Perhaps we should…’ Jimmy turned to Alfred and indicated the door. 

‘So…’ Alfred said slowly as he moved across the room towards it. ‘…me and Jimmy have both been here a little while, so why don’t we leave you two to it and…’ He cast his eyes about and suddenly darted down to grab one of the bags of rubbish. ‘…we’ll go and dump these?’

‘What, no!’ Thomas began to protest. 

‘Thank you, yes.’ Janek said eagerly at the same time. 

‘I’ll go with you.’ Thomas quickly darted forwards. 

‘No, we can manage…’ Alfred grabbed up the second bag to prove his point and motioned with his head for Jimmy to take the other. Jimmy picked it up before Thomas could reach it. 

Thomas stamped his foot. ‘Fine.’ He said with a fixed smile. 

‘Be seeing you back for dinner, Mr Barrow.’ Jimmy nodded to him as he led the way out the door, eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

Alfred tugged the door shut with the toe of his shoe as he left. 

Thomas stared at the door and sighed before turning back to Janek. 

‘Seriously…’ Thomas said, gesticulating round the room. ‘…what can I do to help?’

Janek jumped sideways over the arm of the sofa, to land squarely on the cushion. ‘Come sit.’ He patted the cushion next to him. 

Thomas tensed. ‘No, I don’t want to sit.’ He said quietly. 

Janek got up onto his knees to face the back of the sofa, crossing his arms and leaning his chin on them to peer across the room at Thomas.

‘I think…’ Said Janek with a sly smile. ‘…you must have questions?’

‘You could say that…’ Thomas’s head was nodding at the speed of a humming bird’s wings. ‘…yes, perhaps.’ He said sarcastically. 

‘Well first I will say sorry.’ The smile slipped into something less challenging, but still annoyingly self-satisfied. ‘Sorry for the lads avoiding you. I told them to. Was afraid they’d let something slip.’

‘Why…’ Thomas’s earlier sarcasm dropped away. ‘…why would that have mattered? Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?’

‘Because you’d be afraid and spoil things.’ Said Janek, leaning his cheek lazily into his forearm as he rested his chest up against the back of the sofa. 

‘I’d…?’ Thomas let loose a great peal of loud and utterly hysterical laughter. ‘So it _was_ you then? You did _this_ on purpose…’ Thomas’s finger twirled in the air about his head to indicate their current surroundings. 

‘Well, not why Carson demanded the cottage I think. No. But the rest…’ Janek leaned back, still propped on his knees, hands holding the back of the sofa as he stretched out his torso. 

‘So…’ Thomas started to pace the floor, keeping a good distance between him and the sofa. ‘…you smartened up, stuck yourself in with the electricians, made it so Lord Grantham would remember your name, got the lads to say we need a maintenance man, made yourself useful in the kitchen…Wait, did _you_ break the table?’

Janek shook his head, kneeling back upright again. ‘No, but if nothing had broken before today I might have had to take a hammer to something.’

‘You…you’re…’ Thomas stuttered, shaking his head at the wall as he turned around to pace back across the room. ‘…worrying, is what you are. Putting this all together, setting this all up? I’m bloody glad now you’ve got no education in you, ‘cause with that you’d be _terrifying_.’

Thomas hadn’t intended it as a compliment, but Janek chuckled happily in response.

_What you might have achieved, if anyone ever invested any time in you…_

Thomas shook the thought from his head and came to a stop in the middle of the room, staring Janek down to the best of his ability.   

‘So why’ve you done it?’ Thomas demanded. ‘What are you playing at here?’

Janek simply kept chucking, shoulders shaking a little behind the back of the sofa.

‘You told me…’ Thomas stepped as close as he dared. ‘…that the house was rotten. Do you remember that? If you really are taking back a bit of your life, why would you choose to spend it here? This is where life comes to be squeezed and suppressed…’ Thomas took in a small gasp, surprised at his own words, but he quickly regained composure. ‘This is the last place on God’s green earth that you’d want to be, I know it.’

Janek’s chuckles abated, he took a few wheezing breaths staring down at the sofa cushions before raising his head. ‘You’re right…’ He said. ‘…I don’t want to be caged here…’ His pale eyes held Thomas’s gaze unflinchingly. ‘…But for now at least…’ He shifted about a bit on his knees before concluding simply. ‘…you do.’

_…._

_…._

‘…What?’ Thomas eventually managed.

‘I decided…’ Janek said gently. ‘…that I wanted to know you better. But to do that, there needed to be time. Couldn’t very well be asking you to come climb on the carts and travel back with the crew for it, could I?’ Janek snorted to himself at the image despite the gravity of the moment.

‘But…’ Thomas’s fine vocabulary had utterly deserted him. ‘…your friends, your life, you can’t mean to just…’

 _Pick another person to live by to replace your mother._ Was perhaps what he meant to say.

‘This isn’t so bad, for now.’ Said Janek, the smile was back. He patted the top of the sofa. ‘Never had one of these before.’

‘Janek…’

‘I _will_ see my friends again.’ Janek cut him off firmly. ‘And perhaps you will be with me then, if you think it’s right by you. If things don’t go that way…’ Janek shrugged. ‘…then I can just fuck off, can’t I?’

Thomas hunched forwards, wracked by a belly clenching laugh at Janek’s casual swearing and the general situation. He reached a hand to the back of the sofa to steady himself. 

‘What?’ Said Janek, shuffling along the cushions on his knees to bring himself closer to Thomas to see his face. ‘What?’

‘Oh I’m just…’ Thomas was still shaking, but he managed to raise his head enough to meet Janek’s gaze, still hunched forwards. ‘…don’t mind me, just a little hysterical here.’ 

‘What?’ Janek persisted. 

Their foreheads were almost close enough to touch.

‘Well it’s just that…’ Thomas said, still laughing. ‘…you are nothing like the sort of person I see myself with.’ 

‘What coincidence…’ Janek playfully bumped at his forehead. ‘…I feel the same way.’

They both collapsed into giggles, digging at the sofa for support. But when they both raised their heads at the same moment the giggles vanished as quickly as they had come.

They were very close, almost sharing breath. 

They both pulled back, sharply, at the same time. 

‘I’d best be…um…on my way for the dinner service.’ Thomas said, coughing briskly as he tugged at his lapels. 

‘That reminds me…’ Janek got to his feet but stayed safely behind the sofa. ‘…I need to ask you a favour.’

Thomas swallowed and nodded. ‘Alright…?’ He said, feeling his body threatening to descend back into giggles again because, really, the level of absurdity of the past few moments was a little too much for his constitution to handle. 

‘Day after tomorrow Tosh and Patrick go.’ Said Janek, shoulders sinking a little with a sigh. ‘I would like to have them here for a dinner tomorrow night.’

‘Yes?’ Thomas prompted. 

‘Can you cook?’

The repressed giggles very nearly broke free. ‘No, Janek.’ Said Thomas, aware his shoulders were shaking. ‘No I can’t do that.’

‘Well perhaps you might speak to the lady in the kitchens for me? Have her make something?’

Thomas stuck out his bottom lip and nodded his head. He took a step back as Janek stepped forwards. ‘Yes, I could do that. She does owe you one, after all.’ Thomas said, smiling a little unsteadily as he backed away to the door. 

‘Good.’ Janek thankfully stopped advancing. ‘And you will bring it, yes?’

Thomas frowned. ‘You want _me_ here? Don’t you want to be saying your goodbyes in peace?’  

Janek cocked his head to one side and gave him a very dull look. ‘You will come, please?’

Thomas nodded before he could stop himself. ‘Spose I will then.’ He said. 

Janek smiled. 

‘Goodbye then…’ Said Thomas awkwardly, his hand fumbling for the door knob. 

‘See you soon.’ Janek replied. 

Thomas’s breath caught in his throat. 

He wrenched the door open and all but ran down the path until he was safely back up the hill overlooking the Abbey. 

He stopped to catch breath, but wound up having to press his hand over his mouth to keep the laughter and shouts threatening to wrack his body at bay.


	61. Chapter 61

On his return Thomas caught Jimmy and Alfred on the attic corridor, ready to head back downstairs in their dinner uniforms. 

‘Mr Barrow.’ They both greeted him in unison, looking resolutely down at the floor. 

‘Glad I caught you.’ Thomas said trying to keep the remnants of his earlier hysteria off his face. ‘I just wanted to apologise for that little display there back at the cottage.’

‘It was funny!’ Jimmy raised his head with a smile. 

Alfred prodded him in the side. 

‘Um…I mean…’ Jimmy faltered. 

‘What he means, Mr Barrow…’ Said Alfred firmly. ‘…was that…we’ve never heard you talking with anyone like that and, well…’ Alfred shrugged, defeated. ‘…it was quite funny.’ He concluded apologetically. 

‘Banter.’ Said Thomas, twisting his mouth. ‘And I’m very sorry you had to see that.’

‘So Janek’s not in trouble?’ Said Jimmy tentatively. 

‘No, he’s not in trouble.’ Said Thomas, shaking his head with a smile. 

Both footmen seemed to relax at that.

'Is Janek your friend?' Jimmy asked. 

Thomas wasn't sure how much to read into the question, especially given that he'd assumed his exchange with Janek earlier would seem nothing but hostile to the casual observer. He noticed Alfred looking to be in a bit of a panic at the question.

Thomas gave a small nod. 'Spose I might say that.' He replied. 

Alfred seemed to settle down at Thomas's calm response.

Jimmy nodded back at Thomas, looking pensive. 

‘Just to be clear…’ Thomas continued with a cough. ‘…don’t either of you be thinking to talk like Janek was talking earlier. That's conduct unbecoming for footmen.’

_And underbutlers..._

Both Jimmy and Alfred shook their heads. ‘No, Mr Barrow.’ They said smartly together. 

Thomas dismissed them, laughing a little internally at their deference to him. A fellow could get used to that. 

It took Thomas far longer than usual to get into his livery. His mind kept wandering, and his heart kept wanting to laugh. 

‘Oh…’ He allowed himself a moment to lean against his dresser to catch his breath. ‘Oh my…’ He whispered to himself. 

The dinner service nearly did him in. Lord Grantham seemed determined to repeat ‘his’ idea of hiring a maintenance man until each and every member of the family had congratulated him. Most seemed quite stubborn in that regard. Thomas felt his hands go unsteady every time Janek’s name came up. And it came up a _lot_. 

Then the family moved on to sharing anecdotes, some unfit for the dinner table (sending Carson twitching at the side of the room), about the various misadventures the builders had brought to the Abbey. The one about ‘watering the lawn’ as Edith delicately put it, was one of Thomas’s least favourite. But even that seemed funny to him that night. 

Thomas could see Carson was reliving his own unfortunate experience in his head beside him. 

That nearly set Thomas off into full giggles again. 

Sheer force of will and a lifetime of suppressing each and every personal thought managed to keep the tray safely in Thomas’s hands. 

The servant’s hall was empty when the evening drinks finally concluded. Thomas decided to take himself out back for a smoke. 

He stopped in the doorway in surprise. 

Tosh and Patrick were there sitting at the table in the yard, waiting. And evidently had been for some time if the amount of cigarette butts on the floor around the table were anything to go by.

‘Mr Barrow!’ Patrick said. Both he and Tosh jumped to their feet. 

‘Hello.’ Said Thomas, stepping forward warily. 

The anticipation on their faces was almost painful. Thomas was happy to let them stew in it. 

‘We’re sorry we…’ Tosh blurted out. He stopped abruptly as Patrick turned to glower at him. 

Patrick turned back to Thomas, face all breeze and sunshine in the darkness. ‘How was the cottage, Mr Barrow?’ He said tentatively. ‘Did you go? Was it…um…?’

Thomas planted his feet and cocked his head to one side.

‘Was it a good visit?’

Thomas continued to stare at Patrick.

‘I mean did you have a…’ Patrick tried again. ‘…good afternoon?’

Thomas raised an eyebrow and began to fish about in his pocket for his cigarettes in silence. 

‘Good chat, perhaps?’ Patrick offered, wringing his hands nervously in front of him. 

Thomas lit his cigarette. 

‘So dinner.’ Thomas said, breathing out a stream of smoke. ‘Tomorrow night. I’m going to be asking Mrs Patmore to make something…for us four…’ He said deliberately nonchalantly. ‘…so I’m going to be needing…’ 

 _Recommendations_. Was what he intended to say. But the sentence got drowned out by a squealing noise that would have sounded far more natural on a young woman rather than a twenty-something Irishman. 

‘Oh!’ 

Both Tosh and Patrick surged forwards, and it was only with arms outstretched (and a lit cigarette) that Thomas managed to keep them at bay. 

‘What’s this then?’ Said Thomas, playing for dumb but unable to keep an answering smile off his face as the other two beamed at him. 

‘You know me, Mr Barrow…’ Said Tosh with toss of his head. ‘…I’m always happy about dinner.’

Beside him Patrick nodded, looking like he might bite right through his lip in an attempt to keep it from trembling. ‘Oh, dinner…’ He eventually manged. ‘That’s…that’s…’

‘Now I’m not saying…’ Thomas cleared his throat. ‘…that dinner’s happened.’ He said pointedly. ‘And it might not…happen, you know.’

‘But, you _have_ talked about…dinner?’ Patrick said.

‘Yes, the subject of dinner was broached.’ Thomas replied after a pause.

This time he was too slow to keep Patrick from taking hold of his arm and tugging on it with both hands with an excited bounce.

‘Alright, alright…’ Thomas extracted his arm. ‘…just, calm it down will you?’

‘Yes, Mr Barrow.’ Patrick nodded to him, eyes shining. 

‘Let a bloke have a smoke in peace, will you?’

‘Aye.’ Tosh replied. ‘Come on there Patrick.’ He shepherded the still staring Patrick away and back into the house. 

Thomas collapsed onto the nearby bench.

He looked to the sky, shaking his head at the stars in all manner of disbelief. 


	62. Chapter 62

‘How’d you manage this?’ Patrick was attempting to read the wine-bottle label in the dark as they walked. He had a box of slightly less impressive beer bottles under his arm. 

‘That was from Mr Carson and the wine cellar…’ Thomas fibbed a little. ‘…Lord Grantham told him to compensate the bloke who fixed the table.’ 

It was only partly a fib. Thomas had nudged Carson towards that particular decision, yes, but the rest was true.  

Tosh walked the other side of Thomas, carrying a large casserole dish with brown paper tied on about the lid to keep the heat in. ‘Whatever your lady in the kitchens has done here…’

‘Mrs Patmore.’ Thomas interjected. 

‘What Mrs Patmore’s done…’ Tosh craned his neck forwards to sniff round the paper. ‘…smells bloody good.’

‘It’s these I’m more interested in.’ Thomas jostled the basket in his hands. Inside were enough Yorkshire puddings to feed a small army, wrapped in a muslin cloth. ‘I hope we can get the oven working to heat them up a bit.’

‘You’d be welcome to use ours, Mr Barrow.’ Anna’s voice sounded from behind him. 

Thomas risked falling over his feet on the path to turn back to her. ‘Thank you.’ He nodded. 

Face front, Thomas continued on his way. 

It was a surreal situation, walking side by side with the builders with Bates and Anna following behind, all of them making their way down to the cottages. 

Felt as though the lot of them were going carol singing or the like.

The odd group parted ways at the corner of the first cottage. 

‘So which one’s Janek’s?’ Said Patrick brightly. 

‘Just down here…’ Thomas led the way to the cottage at the far end. 

‘This is nice, ain’t it?’ Said Tosh, looking about the small collection of cottages as they walked. 

‘Not bad.’ Thomas said, he reached to knock on the door. 

‘We come with food!’ Tosh announced as the door opened. 

‘And drink!’ Patrick declared with even more gusto. 

‘And…’ Thomas faltered, the good announcements having already been taken. ‘…good cheer, I suppose.’

‘Then you’d better come in…’ Janek stepped back and motioned them inside.  

What a difference a day made. 

The floor was clear now, bare and unvarnished, but at least it was clean. The chairs and stool that had been broken and stacked on themselves in the kitchen corner were fixed and standing about a small table. The walls still needed a paint, but the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling were gone. 

Most importantly, for the cold night, the fire was lit. There were some small bundles of herbs hanging on string from the mantle and a woven band of fresh ivy draped over the top of it. 

‘Is it Christmas already?’ Patrick tilted his head to peer at the odd decoration. 

Janek shrugged. ‘I thought it looked pretty.’

‘Mmmm, nice.’ Tosh judged 

Thomas gave a quick glance across the room and saw that the oven was lit as well. ‘Is there a tray or something?’ He said, indicating the basket in his hands. ‘I’d like to put these in for a little bit to warm them up.’

‘Ah…maybe.’ Janek was across the room in four long strides and crouched down to rustle about in the cupboards. 

He managed to find something that looked like it wouldn’t combust and handed it to Thomas. 

‘Right…’ Said Thomas. ‘…so we just give those a couple of minutes and…’ He clapped his hands together. ‘What now? Want to be having a drink by the fire before food or…?’

All three stared at him like he’d grown another head. 

‘Food is here.’ Tosh said, still clutching the casserole dish. ‘So we go straight to the table.’

‘Alright then.’ Thomas said.

There were three chairs and one stool.

Thomas went to take the stool but was pushed away by Janek. Janek went to take it but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder by Patrick. 

Tosh, for his part, sat his considerable backside straight down onto the least rickety chair and offered a smile of apology to the rest of the group. 

Patrick perched on the stool. He deposited the wine in the middle of the table, closely followed by the beer bottles as he unpacked them from the box beside him. 

Tosh’s casserole dish joined them (Thomas didn’t bother pointing out something should have been put between it and the table top – it looked like someone had taken a candle flame to it several times before) and that was nearly all the space on the table gone. 

Janek vanished from the table for a moment, when he returned he brought back a fantastically miss-matched array of spoons and bowls. Some metal, some wood, a couple that looked like they might have been salvaged from the scrap heap. But, Thomas raised a bowl to subtly inspect it, they were all clean. 

‘Oh…’ Janek suddenly looked crestfallen. ‘I didn’t think to…’

There was a clink as Thomas delved into his pockets and came up with two small nested glass tumblers in each hand. 

‘Wondered what you had in there!’ Said Tosh with a laugh. 

Thomas dealt the glasses out round the table and jumped up to attend to the puds while Patrick poured the wine. 

Thomas dumped three or four of the puddings in each man’s bowl and they then spooned the thick beef stew over them until the bowls were practically running over the sides. 

‘I feel…’ Patrick said tentatively. ‘…that there should be a grace. Seems proper. New beginnings, and family meal and all that.’

Janek’s cheeks plumped out in a slightly painful grimace, but he nodded. When he looked to Patrick Thomas caught a hint of gratitude in his eyes. 

‘Silent though, perhaps?’ Said Janek. 

Patrick nodded. 

Janek’s elbows came up onto the table, hands clasped, forehead resting there. 

Patrick bowed, chin down to his chest. 

Thomas and Tosh exchanged an awkward glance over their heads at neither of them having elected to bow their heads. 

Tosh offered a sad smile. Thomas returned it. 

‘So…’ Janek raised his head from his hands. ‘…let’s eat!’

‘Wait…’ Patrick took up his glass. ‘…to old friends, and new friends.’

‘To old friends, and new…’ The others echoed, clinking the glasses together hard enough to crack. 

Thankfully the glasses remained intact enough to hold liquid and they all put away a decent swallow of wine. 

‘Mmmmm…this…is delicious!’ Tosh swallowed down three spoonful’s and half a pudding torn in his fingers before the other’s had even taken one bite.

‘Mrs Patmore knows what she’s about.’ Thomas smiled. 

‘So much beef!’ Janek exclaimed beside him, starting to rival Tosh in the speed of his spoonfuls. 

‘Well I told Mrs Patmore it was for you so…’ Thomas chuckled, taking a quick sip from his glass. 

_And a couple of little birdies told me you like your meat._

‘Is Mrs Patmore’s fella still around?’ Said Patrick between mouthfuls. ‘Cos if not I might have to be making her an offer.’

‘There never was a fellow.’ Said Thomas with a shrug. ‘It’s like with Mrs Hughes the housekeeper…’

The others frowned across the small table at him, gravy dripping down their chins. 

‘They’re just called Mrs.’ Said Thomas. ‘That’s just how it is in the house.’

‘That’s…strange.’ Janek blinked at him. 

‘Oh you’re going to see lots of strange stayin’ here.’ Thomas replied, trying carefully to keep his own gravy in his mouth. 

‘How long have you been here, Mr Barrow?’ Said Patrick, preparing to shove an entire pudding into his mouth. 

‘It’s Thomas, please.’ Thomas said with a small smile, catching Janek’s sly sideways look as he did. ‘And I’d say…’ He mashed at a large chunk of gravy sopped potato with his spoon. ‘…ten years or so now.’

_Depending on if you count the war._

‘Ten years!’ The pudding had disappeared into Patrick’s mouth and was now almost fully masticated. ‘Isn’t that something? You must have some stories…’ He trailed off with a wink. 

Thomas laughed. ‘A few. And some not fit for the telling.’

‘Oh, aye?’ Suddenly Janek was as attentive as Patrick. Tosh looked up from his bowl too. 

‘Well…’ Thomas put his spoon down. ‘…one of the strange ones was this bloke who’d come to visit. Came all the way from Turkey. Now he paid a visit…’ Thomas lowered his voice for effect, as though the walls might have ears. The others leaned in. ‘…to the bedroom of none other than our Lady Mary.’

‘No!’ Patrick’s eyes were bright and wide. 

‘That’s not the best bit, the strange bit...’ Thomas leaned in too, turning first to Janek, then to Patrick, then Tosh. ‘…was that the next morning I found him dead in his bed.’

Thomas’s conscience chaffed a little. Both at his own part in the affair and the memory of how he’d felt finding Pamuk’s body. Nothing to laugh about then, oh no. But there was something wonderfully therapeutic about knowing he could share the story with the men around him, knowing none of them would use it to bite him in the backside later (or anyone else, for that matter).  

There was stunned silence for a moment. 

Then Patrick sat back in his chair, raised his glass and declared. ‘What a woman!’ 

They all collapsed into laughter. 

‘I tell you…I tell you…’ Patrick managed to choke out. ‘I wouldn’t mind going that way, I tell you!’

The laughs eventually collapsed into gasps, with Tosh clapping his hands together in mirth. 

‘Just to be clear…’ Thomas mirrored Janek’s gesture, one elbow leaning on the table, glass in hand, without taking a moment to think about the propriety of elbows on the table. ‘None of you…you two…’ Thomas quickly clarified, indicating Tosh and Patrick. ‘…have had any jollys of that sort here, have you?’

Patrick shook his head. ‘No, didn’t seem right in the end.’

‘I got a kiss…’ Tosh’s announcement was met with gasps from Thomas and Patrick. Tosh quickly raised his glass to his lips to hide his smile. 

‘How dare you!’ Patrick shouted, slapping the table, before leaning eagerly. ‘Who was she?’

‘Mmmm mmm.’ Tosh shook his head. ‘Not telling.’

‘Just a kiss?’ Thomas probed a little warily. 

Tosh nodded. ‘Just a kiss. And I’ll tell you why, it’s cause this lad here…’ He pointed to Janek, slopping wine on the table as he did. ‘…told me your housekeeper would chop me knackers off otherwise.’

Janek gave a comical bow to the table. 

‘He weren’t wrong.’ Thomas said with a nervous laugh. 

They settled down for a moment to ladle some more stew and pour the rest of the wine bottle. 

‘Where do you go tomorrow?’ Said Janek. 

Thomas was pretty sure that was to Tosh and Patrick. 

‘Coyne says by the Manchester canal.’ Patrick replied. ‘They’re pulling down one of the old factories and want to make the space up for people to live in.’

‘Manchester…’ Janek sounded a little wistful. ‘…you liked it there before didn’t you?’

‘Aye.’ Said Patrick. ‘But I know you preferred Leeds.’

Janek nodded. ‘Leeds was good, but Scarborough…’

Around Thomas all three men leant back in their chairs to sigh. 

‘Oh Scarborough…’ Said Tosh, as though he was about to break into song. ‘The smell of that sea…’

‘Bit fresher than the Mersey, eh?’ Patrick said to Janek. 

Janek nodded and laughed. 

‘Go.’ Thomas blurted out. ‘For Christ’s sake Janek, don’t be sticking yourself here when you could be off… _everywhere_ , it sounds like.’

Patrick and Tosh quickly busied themselves with their bowls. 

‘I told you…’ Said Janek, rubbing his palms lazily together, both elbows on the table. ‘…I can go when I choose. And maybe you will go too…’

‘I’ll bet you they’d take on a bloke with your medical know how.’ Patrick offered from across the table. ‘It’s the way things are going now, having to make sure everyone’s safe while they work.’

Thomas shook his head briskly. ‘No, no I don’t want to be doing that again.’

For a moment a poignant silence fell over the dinner table. 

‘Well what else can you do?’ Tosh said. 

‘Me? Let’s see…well I learnt to iron newspapers and carry trays, then I got promoted to ironing men’s underwear and carrying trays…’

‘Men iron their underwear?’ Said Patrick incredulously. 

Beside him, Janek just looked surprised at the use of ‘men’ and ‘underwear’ in the same sentence. 

‘No, _I_ ironed their underwear.’ Thomas pointed to his chest. 

‘But you manage things now, don’t you?’ Said Tosh. 

Thomas shrugged. ‘Much as I can with Carson about.’ 

‘That’s something.’ Said Tosh. 

‘I don’t think I could live anywhere else…’ Thomas said, eyeing the dregs in his wine glass. ‘…not now. Been here too long and…’ He sighed. ‘…I’d miss being able to say I worked for a Lord in one of the last great houses of England.’ He admitted, realising that his present audience were among the least likely people in the world to understand the sentiment. 

It was Patrick who eventually came up with something to break the awkward silence. ‘Course you would, if that’s all you know.’ He said. Leaving out the ‘ _that’s a bit sad and pathetic_ ’ that Thomas had no doubt the blokes all around were thinking. 

‘Home is where we lay our heads…’ Said Tosh. ‘…that’s got its drawbacks too, even if we don’t set much store by staying in one place. Mind you…’ He craned his head to look about the room. ‘…this is nice.’

‘You want the tour?’ Said Janek. 

‘Oh yes…’ Patrick was instantly on his feet. 

Thomas saw Tosh go to spoon up the last chunks of beef in his bowl. But he stopped himself, holding a hand out to the bowl as if to politely refuse it, and stood up too. 

‘I’ll just…’ Said Thomas weakly. ‘…stay here and guard the table.’

The three of them vanished upstairs, leaving Thomas to finish his wine and crack open one of the beer bottles.


	63. Chapter 63

A little while later and the group had moved from the kitchen area to the fireplace. 

Thomas sat in one corner of the sofa, nearest the door, while Tosh sat in the other. Patrick was squeezed in between them. 

Janek was sat on the floor between the sofa and the fire, knees bent, arms resting on them, clutching one of the beer bottles.

They had all dispensed with the small glasses left on the table and were nursing a beer bottle each. 

Tosh, Patrick and Janek were reliving some of their times on various building sites around the country.

It could have been the beer (and wine) but Thomas was finding each story more hilarious than the last. 

Polite society would usually balk at members of a party continuing a conversation in which one member couldn’t possibly take part, but Thomas was contented to lean back into the slightly mildewed cushions and listen, watching the glee on the faces of the men around him. 

‘And then…and then…’ Patrick was laughing so hard he could barely get his words out. His thigh shifted against Thomas’s as he brought his free hand up to vigorously slap his knee. ‘And _then_ we paid that bloke from the bakers…’ Patrick collapsed into laughter again. Tosh and Patrick were laughing too, hard enough for tears to be running down their cheeks. ‘…to come running up all ‘that was my tower, that was my tower!’ and we made the bloke think he’d dynamited the wrong one!’

Thomas, as the sole person there who hadn’t lived the story before, had been waiting for the punchline. When it came he hunched forwards and nearly lost his mouthful of beer out over the floorboards. 

‘That’s so evil.’ He managed to choke out. 

That only made the men around him laugh harder. 

‘Don’t be making us all seem like bastards all the time…’ Janek rolled, still laughing, onto his side on the floor to flick at Patrick’s ankle. ‘We do good things too…like when Tosh spilled that floor polish all up that wallpaper.’

Tosh bobbed his head with a bashful grin.

Patrick stopped mid-sip and spilled beer over his front as he nodded. ‘That’s right!’ He declared, this time slapping Thomas’s knee. Thomas winced a little. The slap was damn hard. ‘There’s this expensive shitty wallpaper…with these really bright green patterns. And it gets children sick.’ He nodded to Thomas as though he already knew. Thomas was too bewildered by Patrick’s drunken enthusiasm to disagree. ‘And this London bloke had it all…’ Patrick splayed his fingers and swept his hand in front of him as though marking a horizon. ‘…all over his little ones’ nursery. So Tosh here…’ He leaned to playfully pinch Tosh’s cheek. ‘…he _accidentally_ slopped a bucket of floor polish all up the wall. And the bloke had to replace the paper with some cheap stuff.’ 

On the floor, Janek set down his beer bottle to clap. Patrick joined in too, as much as he could with his bottle still clutched in one hand. 

‘What about you?’ Tosh piped up. ‘Being less magd…madn…mag…’

‘Magnanimous?’ Thomas offered. 

‘That’s the one!’ Tosh pointed sloppily towards him. ‘ Anyway…’ He paused to burp. ‘…this Irish lad here went and painted something on the wall before he hung the wallpaper at this politics man’s house.’

‘Thief…’ Patrick suddenly piped up. ‘Liar…’ He continued. Tosh and Janek joined in, fists punching to the ceiling. ‘BLOODSUCKER!’ They all concluded with a roar and the laughter returned. 

‘Did you…’ Janek rolled onto his side again to look up at Patrick. ‘…do anything like that here before you hung the paper?’

‘Would I?’ Patrick winked at him.

‘Please, say no more and don’t _ever_ tell me.’ Thomas said quickly beside him, taking a swig of his beer. ‘I need to be able to look surprised if they find it.’

They all chuckled. 

‘Well I don’t know about you Tosh…’ Said Patrick, patting at his knee. ‘…but I’m turning into a pumpkin me. How’s about we head off?’

Thomas went to rise with them, but Janek was suddenly on his feet dragging the two men into a fierce hug, an arm around each, and Thomas didn’t feel like getting in the way (or the middle) of that. 

‘I should be heading off too…’ Thomas said when Janek finally released the other two. 

‘No, no…’ Patrick said quickly. ‘Us two have got to get back to pack…you stay, don’t be letting that beer go to waste. And you’d best be helping him clear up too, ‘cause we can’t be bothered.’ He added with a laugh.

Thomas mused that packing their belongings should take all of three minutes. And he felt a strange certainty that Janek wouldn’t let him help clear up. 

But he didn’t protest. The beer was tasting damn good. And there was a fire there, and those sweet-smelling herbs, and what did he have waiting for him in his room when he got back anyway?

_Cold, that’s what’s waiting._

_And here…?_

Thomas took another quick sip of beer, feeling his pulse pounding just a little too rapidly under his collar. 

Janek followed the others to the door and there was another vigorous scuffle as he grabbed them again. 

‘You come see us off tomorrow, alright?’ Thomas heard Patrick say, voice muffled by Janek’s bicep. 

There was the sound of a few slaps to the shoulder, even a few kisses to the cheek, and then the sound of the door closing. 

Thomas watched the fire intently, the light playing over the dark glass of the bottle in his hand. 


	64. Chapter 64

Janek walked back across the room so softly that Thomas jumped in surprise when Janek landed next to him on the sofa. 

‘How are you?’ Thomas asked, still staring into the fire. 

Janek scratched at his cheek, also looking ahead to the flames. ‘I’m alright.’ He replied. 

‘Tomorrow’s going to be hard.’ Thomas said, licking a little errant beer from his lip. ‘You saying goodbye to them.’ His lip curled into his mouth and he bit it sharply. ‘And why for me?’ He asked the fire softly. 

There was a clunk as Janek set his beer bottle down on the floor. He shifted about, one knee bent up under him on the sofa to turn to Thomas. 

Thomas stayed looking resolutely ahead. 

‘Hey…’ Janek tapped on Thomas’s knee. ‘…is that a real question?’

Thomas shrugged, lips curling downwards as he played with the bottle in his hands. ‘I’m not worth it.’

‘Why do you think that?’

Thomas’s shoulders shrugged again. ‘Enough people have told it to me, or shown me that’s what they think. And Lord knows I’ve given at least some of them reason to.’

‘A lot of people in my life have though me worthless.’ Said Janek. ‘Some of them I’ve given reason to think so. Good reason. But you wouldn’t say I’m worth nothing, would you?’

‘No, of course not. No.’

‘Thomas…’ Janek said as Thomas leant down to set his bottle on the floor and rubbed at his face with both hands. ‘…since I’ve been here you’ve saved a life…’

‘No, I didn’t.’ Thomas extracted his face and sunk back against the cushions, eyes closed, head shaking. 

‘You did.’ Janek said firmly. ‘And you saved Tosh from what…from prison? Then…’ Thomas caught a catch in his breath. ‘…then you gave all of us what we needed. That time and place to talk.’ Janek raked a hand through his hair. ‘Me and the lads have known each other years, but I never knew any of that about them.’

Thomas leant his head to the side, head resting on the back of the sofa. ‘Or them about you.’

Janek cleared his throat and rubbed at his chin. ‘Yes.’ He said, sounding very loath to say it. 

‘I’m not always helpful.’ Thomas said quietly.

‘I suspect that.’ Janek smirked. ‘But you are clever, and you can be kind, and…I like to look at you.’

The first two had Thomas embarrassed, the last one had him frowning in Janek’s direction. 

At some point in the last couple of minutes Janek’s arm had crept across the top of the sofa, his fingers nearly touching Thomas’s head. 

‘What?’ Janek laughed. ‘You going to tell me what I do and don’t like?’

‘No, but I’ll tell you you’ve had too much beer.’ Thomas retorted dryly. 

‘I like to look at you.’ Janek said. ‘Now you know I don’t like all smartness and suits, they turn my stomach…’ Thomas felt Janek’s fingertips creeping into his hair. ‘…but I like seeing you all prim and proper, ‘cause it makes it all the sweeter when you let that slip.’

His eyes never left Thomas’s face. His fingers were soft sliding further into Thomas’s hair. His voice a steady rumble in the silence. 

And Thomas was lost. 

Janek leaned to him, pressed his lips to Thomas’s for the briefest moment. His other hand came up to rest his fingertips lightly on Thomas’s jaw, and the fingers remained as Janek withdrew. 

The sounds of the fire crackling became loud as gunshots in Thomas’s head, and his skin seemed aflame where Janek touched. 

‘Oh, I…’ Janek sat back on his heel, misreading Thomas’s state of shock. 

Thomas corrected that misreading, and the look of fear in Janek’s eyes, by leaning into him in less time than the blink of an eye to capture his face with his hands and his lips with his mouth. 

He tended fiercely to one lip then the other. Janek’s hands rested loosely on his shoulders in shock, then clamped down in encouragement. 

The promise of the heat and wetness within had Thomas’s mouth opening, ready to slip his tongue right in to…

‘Whoa!’ Thomas pulled back, retreated into his corner of the sofa. ‘Sorry there…’ He coughed out, his fingers patting his lips as though to chastise them for betraying him. Or at least to stop them from causing any further mischief. ‘…slow, meant to be going slow…that wasn’t very slow there, was it?’

Janek shifted, kneeling on the sofa, fingertips splayed over his knees, looking for all the world like a cat ready to pounce. ‘No…not slow…’ 

Thomas saw the exaggerated rise and fall of Janek’s chest and could feel his own chest doing the same. 

‘We’ve all the time in the world…’ Said Thomas, hand coming down to bunch up the fabric of his trousers at his thigh. ‘…like you were saying…like you were saying yesterday, you needed time to know me so…’ 

Thomas could have continued babbling in that manner for several more minutes had Janek not cut in. 

‘Can I kiss you?’

‘Yes.’ 

Thomas would have been embarrassed by his own breathlessness if he’d had the time. But Janek was on him in a moment, one hand braced against Thomas’s thigh for support, as he sloppily attempted to re-create the movement of Thomas’s lips from earlier. 

_Sloppy, yes. Desperate, yes._

_Unwelcome?_

_Fuck no._

Thomas’s hands went up to hold Janek’s face. Not to direct him, more to confirm that he was actually there and that the sensations were real. 

Janek’s right hand was grasping the back of his sofa, but his left…

His left hand was pressing down on Thomas’s thigh, fingers quite unconsciously digging into the sensitive flesh on the inside of Thomas’s leg as he leaned on the arm, kissing hungrily at Thomas’s mouth. 

‘Ah!’ 

Janek pulled back, hand still on Thomas’s thigh. ‘Slow…time…’ He panted out.

_Oh no, no, no, no..._

No, Thomas’s motor was well on the way to running. ‘Spose we say…’ Thomas said, grasping Janek’s wrist as he went to withdraw his hand from Thomas’s thigh. ‘…that we’ve unfinished business from the village.’

‘We have?’ Janek’s brain was clearly too far gone to process such luxuries as memory. Breathing seemed to be taking up most of his available faculties.

‘Yes.’ Said Thomas, grip tightening on Janek’s wrist. ‘I’d say we do…’ Grey eyes met green with the most pressing of needs. ‘…and I’m thinking…’ Said Thomas, pulse thundering, chest heaving. ‘…that we go slow tomorrow…’ He tugged at Janek’s wrist, and Janek let him do it. Let Thomas tug it all the way up to the needful bulge where his legs met his body. ‘…and that we take care of that business tonight…Uh!’

Words gave way to embarrassingly loud moans as Janek’s palm responded to the opportunity presented. 

A heartbeat later and Janek’s lips were back on his. 

Janek’s hand moved firmly, expertly. Fingers cupping round the back of the top of Thomas’s thigh each time he dipped down between his legs, insistent pressing palm sliding pressure from root to tip, against the hardness pushing against the fabric of Thomas’s trousers. 

Thomas clasped the back of Janek’s head, the fingers of the other hand coaxing Janek’s jaw open for his mouth to accept the eager tongue offered. 

His tongue slid in and out as Janek’s hand moved up and down. 

He moved back to kissing at Janek’s lips, flinching away as Janek went to bite, then going back for more. Begging with his fervour for Janek to do it again. 

And all the time Janek’s hand worked. 

Thomas’s thighs parted as much as they were able, splayed out in the firelight. 

Lips met and parted, and met again. Chests rising, touching, and retreating back again after each surge. 

Thomas’s right foot began a vigorous, wholly uncontrollable, tapping on the cottage floor. Too late to ask Janek to stop, the convulsions overtaking him, Thomas leaned his head back against the cushions and felt Janek’s lips at his throat as he came. 

‘Oh, I…’ Thomas said as soon as the stars in his eyes abated. ‘I didn’t mean to…’

Janek’s nose pressed against his temple, hot breath tickling at Thomas’s ear. ‘The night is not over, no?’

‘No.’ Thomas said, his thankfulness for the sentiment coming through full in his eager breathlessness. 

Janek’s lips moved closer to his ear. ‘Would you like to see the bedroom?’

Thomas pulled away. ‘Yes…’ He managed. ‘Yes I would but…’ He looked down at his trousers, thinking of the mess concealed beneath. ‘…my trousers are all sticky I…’

With slow, deliberate motions Janek began to pop the buttons of Thomas’s trousers open. ‘So you leave them down here…’ He growled. 

_Oh Holy Mother of…_

In a flash he was arching his back to raise his backside off the sofa as Janek tugged down his trousers and underwear. 

Thomas watched, oddly suspended with his shoulders braced on the back of the sofa as Janek threw away his shoes and the clothes they had prevented him from removing. 

There was a fierce feeling of embarrassment. And the urge to retreat back into the cushions with his hands in his lap. 

But then Janek held out one of his hands, and Thomas took it without a moment’s hesitation. 

Janek started fumbling with the buttons of his own shirt as they went. Thomas turned to help him, and soon Janek’s shirt lay discarded at the bottom of the stairs. 

The sensation of his bare legs brushing together as they climbed the stairs had Thomas feeling a new and thrilling sense of danger. And as Janek pushed him to the wall half-way up for another kiss, it was Thomas who led the way on removing what clothes remained to him on top. 

The bedroom was sparse, nothing but two bedside tables and a dresser besides the bed. But the bed was a double. And that was precisely what Thomas had been hoping to see. 

Janek’s trousers had somehow magicked themselves undone before Thomas’s fingers reached the buttons, but they still clung on doggedly to Janek’s hips. 

Thomas dropped to the floor, taking Janek’s trousers with him. He got to his knees, hands pressing at Janek’s hip bones, mouth level with the very erect, very thick, prospect to be found there. 

But Thomas hesitated, a little afraid of bringing the skills of his mouth to bear in that department. If the movements of Janek’s hand back in the village had been anything to go by, he knew what he was doing. And to a much greater degree than Thomas, though he was loath to admit it. 

But Janek’s hand found Thomas’s jaw and tugged gently upwards, bringing Thomas back standing. 

‘I need your mouth here…’ The words were so desperate they sent Thomas’s eyes rolling skywards as Janek’s fingers at his chin brought their lips together again. 

Step, step, kiss, kiss, tongue to suck on, and the backs of Thomas’s knees connected with the bed. 

His knees came up of their own accord to bracket Janek’s hips as his weight crushed Thomas into the sheets and mattress. 

 Janek’s skin felt hot enough to burn, and Thomas felt beads of sweat collecting at his brow and temples as Janek lay bodily on him. 

Janek kissed Thomas’s lips before leaning to the side of his head to lick a trail up the wetness accumulating there. 

Thomas’s every genteel instinct screamed at him to be disgusted, to wipe his face, to close his legs, to drag up the bedsheet to cover himself. 

But there was another instinct. One that had him grasping at Janek’s hand to bring fingers to his mouth to greedily slop on them before directing the hand low, between their bodies. 

‘Mmmmh…’ Janek’s closed-lipped moan sent shivers through Thomas’s body. 

Janek’s fingers, finding their mark, had Thomas begging wordlessly with twisting hips and arched back before they’d even pushed in. 

It was a fine picture there. Janek’s sculpted torso, propped on wide knees, hand reaching down between Thomas’s shamefully open thighs. 

But that first finger…it sent Thomas’s chest to the sky and his head into the pillow. It drew a sound like Thomas didn’t even think he could make. 

And the second? 

All Thomas’s world was that feeling, that need to buck up. 

The third had him seeing stars all over again. 

Janek shifted closer, bending Thomas’s legs up. 

Thomas’s eyes closed, breath slowed, as Janek eased himself in. Every part of him tensing apart from the heat at his base that welcomed Janek in. He tried to remember to breathe. 

Janek’s upper body lurched forwards to clasp the bedstead with one arm. Thomas’s hips curled upwards to move with him. 

‘Ah!’ 

That touched something new. Something Thomas hoped would be touched again. 

Janek’s hips rocked back, then surged forwards with all the force of a freight train. 

‘Ah!’ 

Again, again, and in the haze of exploding nerves Thomas could see Janek watching him. Eyes and mouth open, Janek was watching him. Watching him twist, watching him moan, watching every part of him coming undone. 

The thrusts became more vigorous, not that Thomas would have believed such a thing possible. 

Janek clutching at the bedstead, Thomas trapped between that and Janek’s hips, the mattress rumbling beneath him, the whole room seeming to shake. 

‘Wait…’ Thomas managed to choke out. 

Janek stilled, his whole torso twitching with rapid breaths. 

_Might not be able to blow like you can, but I’ll wager there’s something you haven’t seen before…_

‘Lie down.’ Thomas patted Janek’s side. 

Chest still heaving, Janek rolled off him to lay down beside him. 

With one swift movement Thomas was sat astride Janek’s hips. 

The look of surprise on the man below was damn near reward enough for Thomas, but the look on Janek’s face as Thomas reached back to grasp him in hand and guide him back in was perfection. 

Wonder. Sheer, unadulterated, wonder was looking back at Thomas as he rolled his hips. 

There was disbelief there too. And Janek’s tentative hands taking gentle hold of Thomas’s backside to luxuriate in the feel of it. 

Thomas rolled his hips again, making full circle from north, past all the compass points, and back to north again. 

Thomas did it again.

‘Uh…’ Janek’s eyelids fluttered. 

Thomas reached his fingers down to play at the rippled muscles of Janek’s stomach. Then he did it again. 

Then he began to tug, up and down, with all the muscles long dormant to keep Janek feeling every movement. 

Thomas’s hips tensed then relaxed, tensed then relaxed, then rose and fell with increasing ferocity as the mattress and Janek surged up to meet him with each thrust downwards. 

‘Oh…oh…’

The mattress shook desperately under Thomas’s knees. Janek’s hands tightened on Thomas’s buttocks. 

The look of wonder in Janek’s eyes remained. Thomas rolled and bobbed on top of him, finally settling into a punishing rhythm that had both of them shout, then still. 

Thomas’s hands came up to the back of his neck as Janek spilled, a moment of triumph, bliss. His chest, belly and arms stretched out in release, his eyes closed, the heat between his parted thighs wet with satisfaction. 

And then the embarrassment came. 

Thomas lowered his arms. 

He wasn’t sure which part of him he wanted to be covering first. He was only sure that he was a none-too pert bloke of thirty that had just been making an absolute fucking exhibition of himself. 

And no doubt the man below, relieved of the haze of lust, would be looking up at him and wondering what the hell he thought he was doing up there. 

Thomas took in a chocked breath, his bare chest and stomach feeling cold like never before. 

His face must have shown a little of what he felt, because in the next moment he was flipped on his back, Janek’s luxurious heat warming him, hands stroking down his sides, lips once again on his. 

Janek kissed him slowly, reverentially even. Like a man who knows he’d somehow got lucky and wanted to be tasting every bit of it before the moment went away. 

‘I’m so embarrassed I…’ Thomas managed to get in when Janek withdrew from the kiss. 

Janek kissed him again. 

He drew back and rubbed Thomas’s nose with his own. 

‘Why?’ He whispered. 

As Thomas fumbled for a response Janek’s head moved a little lower, his breaths tickling at Thomas’s chest as he took one of Thomas’s nipples between lip and tongue. 

‘I’m not…’ Thomas tried not to be distracted by the sight of the top of Janek’s head and the sensations at his chest. ‘…not as young as I once was, I shouldn’t be doing that sort of thing.’

Janek sucked Thomas’s nipple between his lips before releasing it and resting his chin on Thomas’s chest. 

‘Oh please…’ He said. ‘…do it again.’ 

 

**The End**

**(And a New Beginning)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom! Happy ending and a thousand different ways to imagine happy/angsty developments in the future. I finally did it! 
> 
> If you're still here, thank you so much! xxxx


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